Trapped
by blucougar57
Summary: How can you be found when nobody knows you're missing?
1. Ambushed

A/N: _I probably really shouldn't be posting this yet, since I am still in the middle of **Blind Trust**, but I figured, what the hell. That, and I'll see what sort of a reaction I get to this. Yes - Bobby-angst will ensue, but this story is also more meant to focus on Mike as well._  
_This is effectively a focus piece for Bobby and Mike's relationship. Since authors are so diverse in their opinions as to whether the boys would be best buds or the best of enemies, I decided to try my hand and see what eventuates. Needless to say, there will be misery and suffering involved. You have been duly warned. _

_Also, the tagline is borrowed from the Australia horror movie **Wolf Creek**, which is based on the Ivan Milat backpacker serial murders._

Dedication: For Mike, by special request.

Disclaimers: The usual. I don't own anything from the Law & Order franchise, unless you count my season 1, 2 & 3 DVDs. Don't sue. I have no money. I'm making no money out of this. I only wish I was.

Rated: T, for mild level violence and angst. Compared to _Blind Trust_, this is a cake walk.

* * *

_Somewhere in the Bronx_

"I really don't think this is such a great idea."

Mike Logan rolled his eyes in exasperation as, not for the first time, Bobby Goren expressed his misgivings about their escapade.

"Look, do you trust me or not, Bobby?"

Bobby hesitated in answering, much to Mike's growing irritation.

"Do you want an honest answer to that?"

Mike came to an abrupt halt, and Bobby had to duck quickly to the side to avoid walking straight into him. The older detective turned to face Bobby, his expression hardening fractionally.

"_You_ were the one who expressed a wish to go and get yourself shit-faced tonight, Goren. I just offered to show you the best place to do it. You wanna wimp out now, and go home and read a book, or something? Be my guest."

Bobby shook his head, deciding it probably wasn't the best moment to point out that at no point had he said he wanted to 'get shit-faced'.

"I was kidding, Mike. I trust you, okay? Really."

Mike grunted as he began walking again.

"You suck at making jokes. Don't do it."

It was Bobby's turn to roll his eyes as they continued walking along the dark street. For someone who came across as such a tough guy, Mike Logan definitely had his sensitive moments.

This little adventure, if it could even be called that, had begun that morning. Neither Alex Eames nor Carolyn Barek had been at work that day, having organised a day off for what Carolyn had described as 'some serious girl activities'.

To Bobby's way of thinking, that probably meant spending the day at a health spa, getting some heavy duty pampering. Mike's mind had been further into the gutter. Throughout the course of the day, he had offered increasingly lewd opinions as to what the women might have been up to, opinions that Bobby was sure either Alex or Carolyn would have cheerfully shot him for voicing.

In the end, though, what it meant was that Bobby and Mike had had to team up in order to go out chasing after leads on their current cases. It had been a long, fruitless day, and at some point Bobby had expressed a wish for a good, strong shot of whiskey before heading home that night. At which point, Mike had enthusiastically claimed that he knew a little place that served the best whiskey in New York City. It was a little out of the way, but worth the effort of getting there… if Bobby was game.

Bobby had readily agreed, but hindsight is a wonderful thing, and now Bobby was starting to wonder whether his brain had been on temporary leave when he agreed to Mike's suggestion.

'A little out of the way' had turned out to be somewhere on the east side of the Bronx, in a decidedly seedier part of town. Mike seemed to know exactly where he was going, though, so Bobby said nothing more.

After what seemed an age, Mike finally turned into a dark doorway and led the way into a bar that even Bobby, with his awesome powers of observation, would have over-looked. It was a well-lit place, though not overly bright, clean and fairly cheerful by all appearances, and completely at odds with the questionable location.

"Mike! Hey, long time no see! Where you been?"

Bobby followed Mike over to the bar as the bartender called out a cheerful greeting.

"Hey, Zach. I've been pretty busy, not much time to get over to this side of town, you know? How's it going, anyway?"

"Ah, not too bad. Business has been a little slow lately, but it's not so bad. It helps to get visits from familiar faces, though." Zach's gaze flickered across to Bobby. "Especially when those familiar faces bring new faces with them."

Mike grinned, and introduced his drinking companion.

"Zach, this is Bobby Goren. We work in the same office. Bobby, Zach here has been providing the best quality whiskey in the city for as long as I can remember. Zach, two whiskeys, please."

Zach chuckled.

"For that glowing appraisal, the first one's on me."

Bobby looked bemusedly at Mike as Zach turned away to get their drinks.

"Office?"

"I'm not an idiot, Bobby," Mike retorted in a low voice. "Not even Zach knows I'm a cop, and I was coming here regularly while I was on Staten Island. This place serves great whiskey, but it doesn't pay to let yourself forget where you are, and this neighbourhood is not that keen on cops."

For some reason, Bobby found himself reassured by those words more so than anything else Mike could have said. Smiling faintly, he settled properly onto the barstool, and willed himself to relax and enjoy himself for once.

* * *

Mike hadn't been wrong. The whiskey was good. Perhaps not the absolute best that Bobby had ever had, but definitely some of the best that he'd ever gotten in any bar. That, combined with the friendly atmosphere, and Bobby found himself relaxing in a way that hadn't happened for a long time.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself," Mike commented in amusement while Zach saw to other customers. Bobby smiled faintly. He had a nice buzz going, just enough to leave him feeling comfortable, but not so much that he was outright drunk. He was having a good time, much to his own surprise.

"Yeah, I am," he admitted.

"Told you it was worth it," Mike said with a chuckle as he waved to Zach and indicated another round of drinks for the two of them.

"Am I gonna get lumped with the bill for this, though?" Bobby asked, smiling wryly.

"We'll split it," Mike reassured him. "That's the other bonus. Zach only charges a fraction of what you'll pay for the quality stuff at other places."

Bobby frowned, feeling a slight hint of something not quite kosher.

"How can he manage that?"

Mike shook his head decisively.

"Don't ask, don't tell. If there's something going on here behind the scenes, I don't wanna know about it."

After a moment's consideration, Bobby decided that was probably for the best. A fresh glass was set before him, and he sipped at it, rather than simply chugging it back. He wasn't sure just how many glasses he'd gone through, but he suspected he was nearing his limit. A glance off to his side told him it was the same for Mike.

"Better make that the last one," he warned, and hid his amused grin at Mike's disappointed groan behind one large hand.

"Don't wanna go," Mike grumbled, staring sulkily at the now empty glass before him.

"C'mon," Bobby murmured, dropping a selection of bills on the counter and urging Mike out of his seat. "I know this great all-night coffee shop back in Manhattan. Serves the best coffee…"

With reluctance, Mike allowed himself to be hauled up and out of the bar, calling out a jovial goodbye as Bobby guided him out.

* * *

Zach smiled wryly to himself as the two men stumbled out of the bar. He liked Mike, and had been pleased to see him again, and although his companion had seemed a little on the brooding side, a few whiskeys had served to lighten the mood nicely. Shaking his head, he walked over to where they'd been seated, with the intention of clearing the empty glasses. He was surprised, though, when his gaze fell on a cell phone, obviously left behind by either Mike or his friend.

Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, Zach slipped the phone under the counter. Sooner or later the owner would realise it was missing, and come back for it and maybe, just maybe, have a few more drinks in the process of collecting it.

Someone called for a drink from the other end of the bar, and Zach went to serve them, the phone already light-years from his mind.

* * *

"So you liked it, right?" Mike asked as Bobby guided him along, while at the same time trying to keep a straight line himself.

"I liked it," Bobby conceded. "It's a great bar. Pity about the neighbourhood."

Mike chortled, and then looked around.

"Need a taxi."

"No kidding," Bobby muttered. "You think you can stand up on your own?"

"Sure," Mike announced, and pulled away from Bobby only to stagger a couple of steps and tip over sideways. He would have gone sprawling on the sidewalk if it hadn't been for the brick wall that he fell against.

"Stay," Bobby ordered, and reached into his pocket for his cell phone. It only took half a minute of searching for him to realise it wasn't there. "Damn… Must've left it in the bar. Mike, give me your cell phone."

"Left it at work," Mike mumbled. "Figured if I left it there, I couldn't get a call-out over the weekend."

"Brilliant," Bobby sighed. "Deakins is going to kill you on Monday. Okay, I've gotta go back and get my cell. Will you be okay there for a minute?"

"Sure," Mike answered. Bobby eyed him doubtfully, and then decided he had little choice. If they were to have any hope of getting a taxi, he needed his cell phone.

Bobby turned to head back to the bar, and walked straight into the tall, heavily built figure that had materialised behind him.

"S… Sorry…" Bobby stammered, taken well and truly by surprise by the sudden, unexpected appearance of this human mountain. "Didn't see you…"

"You boys look a little lost," the newcomer stated, eyeing first Bobby and then Mike with acute interest. The man was tall, even taller than Bobby, with dirty blond hair that was one step short of being a buzz cut. In his current state of mind, the only discernible feature that Bobby was able to pick out right then was the way that the man's nose was mashed almost flat, probably from being broken multiple times.

Bobby drew back a little, eyeing this stranger with suspicion. He was not quite so drunk that he couldn't recognise a potential threat, and in Bobby's slightly fuzzy mind this man presented a very clear threat.

"We're not lost," he said, willing his voice to stay steady, and not slur. His words were met with an amused grin that had no warmth or friendliness in it whatsoever.

"Really."

All of a sudden, Mike was at Bobby's side, looking stone-cold sober. Only a slight waver in his stance belied his lack of sobriety.

"Really. We're not lost, buddy."

"Mm. I couldn't help but wonder. See, I figured you _had_ to be lost, because I wouldn't have thought that a couple of cops would be stupid enough to be caught in a neighbourhood like this after dark on purpose."

Bobby and Mike exchanged glances. There was no mistaking the threat by then.

"Well, you don't need to worry," Bobby said in his best placating tone. "As soon as we can get a taxi, we'll be gone. You won't see us again."

A chilling smile spread across the man's face.

"I've got a better idea. Why don't you boys let us give you a ride?"

Bobby took a couple of slow steps back, but his retreat was abruptly halted by the sudden appearance of another man behind him. Both detectives looked around, more than a little alarmed by this time, and quickly realised that all avenues of escape had been effectively cut off as half a dozen men emerged out of the shadows, surrounding and hemming them in.

"Thanks for the offer," Mike said coolly. "But we're fine, fellas. Really. We'll be outta here before you know it."

The big man who had originally accosted them glanced downwards. Mike and Bobby followed his gaze, and quickly spotted the gun that was trained on them. They looked up again to find their assailant grinning cruelly at them.

"I insist."

He nodded towards the road, and for the first time the two detectives noticed the car that sat at the curb, lights dimmed and the engine idling. For a third time, they exchanged glances. Each knew, without it having to be said, that to get in that car would most likely prove fatal.

"You really don't want to do this," Mike said in a remarkably steady voice. It really was amazing, Bobby reflecting sombrely, the way that pure fear could sober a man up. Their assailant looked at the two of them in open and malicious amusement.

"No? Why not? You boys think you're something special? That your bosses might actually miss you?"

"Oh, they'll notice," Mike said dryly, "if only because they'll be royally pissed off that we're not at work."

Bobby swallowed hard in relief, thankful that Mike had the sense not to blurt out that they were part of the high profile Major Case Squad. More often than not, in a situation as highly charged as this, that kind of information tended to be a burden rather than an advantage. Flat-nose's grin widened and he motioned once more to the waiting vehicle.

"Step up to the car, boys. We need to frisk you both before we take that little ride."

* * *

Bobby walked slowly over to the car, with Mike close behind him. As they were patted down, and their weapons, wallets and police shields removed, they watched each other out of the corners of their eyes, each trying to gauge what the other was going to do.

Right at that moment, Bobby wasn't sure that it was possible to be more afraid. The last time he had been in a situation similar to this with Mike, he'd had the advantage of knowing personal information about each of their potential assailants, and he had been able to use that to his advantage. He had no such knowledge now, and he suspected that any attempt to talk their way out of trouble would result in a serious beating.

While he still had all his senses intact, Bobby had no intention of doing anything that would end with either or both of them being physically harmed.

On the other hand, nor could they allow themselves to go with these men. Once they were in that car, their options would be severely limited, if not non-existent. No, whatever they were going to do, they had to do it _now_, before they were herded into the car.

* * *

Mike watched Bobby in tense silence. Unlike when they had been trapped together in the prison, there were no saving words from the boy-genius this time. Not that Mike had really expected Bobby to come out with some miraculous mini-speech that would save their sorry asses, but you just never knew.

In this instance, it was a negative. Bobby had nothing in that library that he called a brain that could save them. Not this time. This meant that if they were to escape whatever fate was in store for them, they had to act and it had to be now.

Bobby realised what Mike was going to do a split second before he actually did it. In the space of an instant, Bobby had to decide – fight alongside Mike, or do nothing.

He had never been one to resort to physical violence willingly, even when it appeared to be the only way out. That wasn't to say that he couldn't fight – he could, and quite adequately, thankyou. He just preferred not to.

The real question was did they have another option open to them? It took Bobby just that split second to decide no. It was time to fight.

* * *

Reacting together, in a move that could almost have been choreographed, Mike and Bobby threw themselves backwards, deliberately smacking the backs of their heads against the faces of the men directly behind them. There were a couple of pained grunts, a startled exclamation, and then the rest of the men were on them.

Mike thought they were actually doing pretty good. From the moment the fight really started, he and Bobby fought together with ferocity and a focus that belied their previously drunken states.

Never underestimate cops when they're backed into a corner, Mike thought with more than a hint of smugness.

He drove his knee into the groin of one man, and put his elbow squarely into the mouth of another, and finally managed to break free of the rumble. He stumbled several steps away, but before he could get far, a harsh voice interrupted his flight.

"That's right, look at the fucking pig run. Doesn't even give a fuck whether his buddy gets a bullet in the head."

Mike turned back slowly, and his breath froze in his throat at the sight that met him. Bobby had been dragged to the ground and pinned there by four of the six or so men, his arms wrenched painfully behind his back. Flat-nose had the barrel of his gun pressed hard against the back of Bobby's head. He was no longer smiling, and when he spoke, it was with open malice.

"Get the fuck back here, or he dies right now."

Mike looked at Bobby and though he couldn't see the other detective's face (Bobby's face was being pushed brutally into the sidewalk), he could guess what Bobby wanted him to do.

He couldn't do it. Even though he knew it was the logical, _procedural_ thing to do, Mike could not bring himself to turn his back on his colleague and friend, even under the guise of going to get help. He knew, beyond any doubt, that the instant he turned his back on them, the bastard would put a bullet in Bobby's head. That was a scenario that Mike simply couldn't live with.

Willing himself to breathe evenly, Mike gathered his courage and walked back to their assailants.

* * *

"That's it," Flat-nose said, like he was trying to entice a wayward puppy. "C'mon back."

As soon as Mike was within reach, he found himself thrown roughly to the ground beside Bobby, his arms pulled tightly behind his back. He managed to turn his head slightly, and found himself almost eye to eye with Bobby. Instead of the accusations and betrayal that he expected to see, though, he saw instead gratitude mixed with regret.

Fresh anger flooded through Mike, and he struggled instinctively against the hands that pinned him down. Bobby took his cue from him, and did the same.

"Looks like we've got to teach a couple of pigs how to behave properly," Flat-nose said with a harsh laugh.

Mike heard the sharp ping of a silencer, and could only look on helplessly as Bobby jerked violently, the bullet hitting him in the left thigh. A second later, there was a second shot, and it was Mike's turn to jerk at the ugly sensation of a bullet striking his right thigh.

A second beyond that, something hard and blunt struck Mike across the back of the head, and everything faded to black.

* * *

_tbc..._


	2. Caged

_A/N: Since I got a positive response to the first chapter, I figured I'd post chapter 2, and you can get an idea of where this is heading._

_Warning: For strong language_

_

* * *

_

Some time later

Bobby awoke to pain. Pain in his leg, pain in his gut, pain in his shoulders, pain in his head. There were very few areas on his body right then that weren't hurting.

Gradually, he came to the realisation that he was lying on some sort of make-shift cot, but where…? Reluctantly, Bobby opened his eyes, and was relieved not to be assaulted by bright lights. With the way his head was pounding, he didn't think he could have stood it.

As he slowly came back to his senses, Bobby became more acutely aware of his surroundings. Concrete walls… Dim lights, stripped of their fittings and hanging by only their wires… And were those bars…?

He started to push himself up, only to be stopped by the fiery pain that flared through his leg. Propping himself up on his elbows, Bobby peered down to discover the right leg of his suit pants had been torn wide open, and there was a thick bandage wrapped tightly around his wounded thigh.

He dropped back against the cot, baffled. Just what the hell was going on…?

A muffled groan alerted him to the fact that he was not alone. Looking around, he spotted Mike lying on a second cot nearby, with his left leg similarly bandaged.

"Mike."

He tried to speak, but the best he could manage was a hoarse whisper. His mouth was horribly dry, and he couldn't even generate enough spit to get rid of the blood that he could taste. Mike heard him, though, and turned his head slowly to look at him with pain-filled eyes.

"Bobby…?"

Again, Bobby tried to sit up, and this time he succeeded. Taking a moment to let his head adjust to being upright, he then swung his legs carefully over the edge of the cot, and tried to stand up. In retrospect, he should have known better. As it was, his legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed with a painful thud on the cold concrete floor.

His own injuries momentarily forgotten, Mike climbed off his own cot and crawled over to where Bobby lay in a crumpled heap, clutching at his leg and shuddering violently in pain.

"Well, that was just plain stupid," Mike muttered. "C'mon, Bobby, try and sit up."

Gradually, with Mike's help, Bobby managed to get himself upright again, and then the two of them sat side by side on the cold, hard floor, each man lost in his own thoughts. Mike was the first to finally break the silence.

"Just where the hell are we, anyway?"

Bobby shook his head, closing his eyes as his stomach rolled unpleasantly. The last thing he wanted right then was to be sick.

"I don't know."

Silence fell again as Mike looked around, taking in their surroundings with slowly dawning horror.

"We're… in a cage…"

Bobby glanced around, a bleak expression on his pale face.

"Yeah."

Slowly, painfully, Mike dragged himself to his feet so that he could look around properly.

"We're in a fucking cage!"

"Sit down," Bobby ordered him softly, "before you fall down."

Mike sat down on the cot, where Bobby had lain only a short while ago. After a moment, Bobby pulled himself awkwardly up off the floor to sit beside him.

"We're in a basement, somewhere," Bobby deduced. "Beyond that… I don't know. We could be anywhere in New York City."

"What the hell do they want with us?" Mike muttered sourly. He'd had very specific ideas on how he'd planned on spending his weekend. Locked up in some dank basement somewhere with Major Case's resident oddball genius had definitely not been on the agenda. Bobby didn't answer, and after nearly a minute of silence, Mike turned to take a good look at his colleague.

The left side of Bobby's face was badly grazed from being mashed into the sidewalk and his head was bleeding where he'd been struck a brutal knock-out blow. They'd both been stripped of their coats and jackets and, just visible beneath Bobby's shirt, Mike could see other ugly bruises just coming up from where he'd taken a vicious beating.

Then, on top of those injuries, there was also the bullet wound to his thigh.

Mike took a moment to examine his own leg, staring at the firmly bandaged wound in puzzlement. What was the point of shooting them, and then treating the injuries? It didn't make any sense. None of it made any sense.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. His gaze was fixed squarely on the floor, and so he didn't see the strange look that Bobby sent his way.

"Sorry? For what?"

Mike waved one hand vaguely in the air to indicate their grim surroundings.

"For this. If I hadn't insisted on dragging you to that bar…"

"Then you probably would've gone alone, and you'd have been stuck in here on your own," Bobby finished off bluntly. Mike grimaced, and refrained from pointing out that he had actually managed to get loose, while it was Bobby who had been overpowered.

"But still…" he protested.

"Look, Mike," Bobby said wearily, "my head and my leg are really hurting. I don't have the energy to argue with you. The bottom line is that I still had free will the last time I checked. I didn't have to go to that bar with you. I went because I wanted to. If I really hadn't wanted to, then nothing you could've said would have gotten me there. It wasn't your fault. End of discussion."

Mike frowned, not sure whether to be relieved or annoyed. Finally, he sighed in resignation, but didn't offer any further protest. Nearly five minutes passed before either man spoke again.

"Mike…"

"What?"

He spoke perhaps a little more sharply than he had really intended, but he was starting to feel particularly sour. Not to mention, he was waiting for Bobby to recover enough to really get angry at him for landing them in this mess.

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Bobby spoke softly.

"Thankyou."

Mike blinked, effectively pole-axed. He stared at Bobby in confusion, but the other detective had his gaze fixed firmly on his hands and was refusing to look anywhere else.

"You're thanking me? Why?"

"For not… not abandoning me."

For the second time in a matter of minutes, Mike was completely taken aback. Bobby went on softly.

"You could have gotten away… You could have said you were running to get help, and no one would have disputed that… But you didn't. You… You came back."

Mike let his breath out in a rush. For a brief moment, he almost came back with a crack about not being game enough to ditch Bobby because he was too scared of Alex, but he caught himself at the last possible moment.

"I don't abandon fellow cops," he said quietly, sincerely, "and I sure as hell don't abandon my friends."

Bobby looked at him finally, one of those odd, patented sideways Goren looks.

"I just… I don't have too many friends who'd do that for me. In fact, before this I think Eames might have been the only one who would have."

"It's okay, Bobby," Mike said wearily. "I don't have a lot of friends like that, either."

The two men sat there in silent solidarity for a while before Mike suddenly grunted in frustration and got to his feet once more.

"What are you doing?" Bobby asked hoarsely.

"Looking for a way outta here. I am not sitting on my ass waiting for those sons of bitches to come back. They put us in here. There's got to be a way to get out."

Bobby couldn't dispute the logic in that argument, and he wasn't entirely happy with just sitting and waiting it out, either. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself awkwardly to his feet. Mike looked back at him with a frown.

"What are _you_ doing?"

"Helping you look for a way out."

"Bobby…"

"Hey, you think I'm going to just sit back and let you do all the work? You'll never let me forget it."

Mike looked down pointedly at Bobby's wounded leg.

"Yes, well, if you collapse and bleed out on me, Eames will never let _me_ forget it."

Bobby looked down to see the bandage around his thigh was stained dark red with the blood that was steadily seeping through.

"It's okay," he insisted, even as he took in Mike's sceptical expression. "If the bullet had hit an artery, I'd be dead already. I'm not going to bleed out."

Mike shook his head but, as Bobby had said not too long before, he simply didn't have it in him to argue.

It didn't take them long to find the door of their makeshift prison. It took them even less time to come to the realisation that there would be no exiting through that door.

"I don't believe this," Mike growled as he examined the lock on the cage door which, by all appearances, had been welded shut.

"They really don't want us to go anywhere," Bobby murmured, his shoulders slumping noticeably.

"I don't get it," Mike said heatedly. "Just what the fuck is going on here? They ambush us in the street where anyone could have seen, shoot us both in the leg, and then they leave us locked up in here like fucking animals. What the hell are they playing at?"

Bobby didn't answer, his attention focused elsewhere. Mike felt a sudden knot of tension in his gut. He hadn't been working alongside Bobby for very long, but he was already starting to recognise certain mannerisms and affectations. In this instance, he knew Bobby had spotted something that was probably of great importance… or great concern… to the both of them.

"What is it?" he asked, rejoining his colleague at the bars and looking at him in genuine concern. Bobby spoke softly, his voice sounding hoarse and sore.

"Over there, by that pillar. Do you see it?"

Mike peered intently in the direction that Bobby had indicated. At first, he couldn't see anything in the dim light. But then, as his eyes gradually adjusted, he could finally make out what Bobby had spotted, carefully packed at the base of a nearby support pillar.

"Oh… crap… Is that what I think it is?"

"Yeah," Bobby said softly. "Explosives. And see that label? That's a City Council seal. They've locked us up in a building scheduled for demolition."

Mike turned away from Bobby, suddenly very angry and very scared. It was at that point that he saw it. Limping across the floor, he leaned down and picked up two small water bottles, one of which had a note attached to it.

"One bottle of water each for the thirsty pigs," he read aloud, scowling at the use of the crude insult. "Use it wisely." He pulled a face as he looked back at Bobby. "Use it wisely? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Bobby shrugged, and slowly made his way over to sit back on the cot.

"I guess they just don't want us dehydrating before the big finale."

Mike scowled angrily.

"How considerate."

Bobby looked up at him, looking sick and pale.

"They're not coming back. The men who put us here…? They're not coming back. They've left us in here to… to die."

"Crap," Mike muttered. He handed one water bottle to Bobby, and hung on to the other as he sat back down on his own cot. "Well, I guess we'll just have to wait for Eames and Barek to come rescue us."

Bobby didn't so much as crack a smile.

"Unless there's a call-out over the weekend, they're not even going to know that we're missing until Monday morning, and that's probably when this building is scheduled for demolition.

"Well, gee, aren't you just full of happy thoughts," Mike grumbled. "C'mon, don't you and Eames have some sort of psychic connection happening?"

"Psychic…? What the hell are you talking about?" Bobby asked, genuinely confused. Mike flapped a hand in the air.

"Damn, Bobby, everyone sees it. Everyday, it's as visible as that grey in your hair."

Bobby frowned darkly, but didn't retaliate to the insult. Mike went on, barely able to hide his smirk.

"You and her… You only need to look at each other, and you seem to know what's going on. You even finish off each other's sentences, for crying out loud! I've never seen two cops with a connection like that!"

Mike fell silent, and after a minute Bobby spoke tentatively.

"You're not going to…"

"Not going to what?"

"To accuse us of… of…"

Mike raised an eyebrow, struggling against a powerful urge to burst out laughing.

"Sleeping together? Is that what you're trying to say? Damn, Bobby! I didn't think I even hinted at that, but you know you ought to try and not look so damn guilty."

Bobby reddened visibly, much to Mike's amusement.

"It's just… That's what most people assume… that we work so well because we're sleeping together. Or, that Alex has stayed with me for so long before we're sleeping together. But we're not. We… We never have."

Mike chuckled, then, and shook his head.

"Relax, pal. I know you've never and I can give you two reasons why I already knew that. Firstly, Deakins is way too perceptive not to know if something like that was going on under his nose, and if it was, he wouldn't stand for it."

"Have you ever… you know… slept with a partner?"

Mike nearly choked as he took a mouthful from his water bottle.

"Excuse me…?"

Bobby didn't apologise for the question, but rather sat patiently waiting for an answer. Mike stared at his colleague incredulously.

"You do know that I've never had a female partner before Barek?"

"I do now, but you still haven't answered my question."

"No," Mike stated firmly, his eyes lighting up with a warning glare in the dim light. "Not with Barek, and definitely not with any of my other partners."

Bobby hid the smile that tugged at his mouth by ducking his head down. It never ceased to amaze him, the way that so many men were so defensive about their sexuality. Not that he had ever thought for an instant that Mike was inclined towards men, but it was amusing to hear him so vigorously espouse his heterosexuality.

"I wasn't inferring anything, Mike," he reassured the other detective as he lay down carefully on the cot, stretching his body out slowly and trying to get his injured leg into as comfortable a position as possible. "Just… tit for tat."

Mike grunted.

"Firstly, I never actually asked if you were sleeping with Eames. You brought that one up all on your own. Secondly, we're colleagues, not rivals. Don't play the same whacked games with me that you play with that psychotic bitch, Wallace."

Even though Bobby was staring up at the ceiling, Mike couldn't possibly miss the way he flinched at the mere mention of his murderous nemesis. Flooded with remorse, Mike sighed softly and offered a quiet apology.

"Sorry. That was a dumb thing to say."

"S'okay," Bobby mumbled. All of a sudden, he was feeling horribly sick and light-headed, and Mike's unintended affront was as far from his mind as it could be.

"Bobby…? You okay over there?"

Bobby didn't answer. He couldn't. Suddenly, nothing seemed to work. Mike's face sudden appeared above his own, but nothing he was saying made any sense. Bobby could make out his lips moving, but what was coming out could have been Ancient Hebrew, for all the good it did.

Intense heat and pain flared through Bobby's leg, and he gave a strangled cry of pain, his body arching up off the bed in reaction. Then, abruptly, the world tilted upside down, and turned to blackness.

* * *

_tbc..._


	3. Conversations

* * *

_Some time later_

When Bobby awoke next, he was feeling better. Not good, exactly… but certainly better than before. He opened his eyes slowly and lay still, staring up at the bars above his head, and the crumbling concrete ceiling beyond. Thankfully, his head was no longer spinning. His leg was still burning with pain, but at least he felt he had a chance of being able to sit up without his head almost falling off.

He shifted a little, and was surprised to find he was covered by a couple of thinning blankets. He stared down at them, puzzled but thankful for the minor warmth they provided, when a voice spoke and interrupted his musings.

"Hey, you're awake."

Bobby looked around slowly to find Mike sitting on the other bed, watching him with a mixture of weariness and concern.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Kind of. What happened?"

"I think you went into shock, or something," Mike told him. He got up and limped painfully over with one of the water bottles. "I told you not to walk around like you were."

"Sorry, mother," Bobby retorted, but there was no anger in his voice at the admonishment, and Mike chuckled softly.

"Smart ass. Here, have a drink. Go easy, though. You don't want to throw up and dehydrate yourself anymore than you already are."

Bobby pushed himself up far enough to take a few sips of water, and then lay back down again. He knew better than to try and sit up again too soon, and he suspected that Mike would have stopped him if he _had_ tried.

"Where did these come from?" he asked, indicating the blankets.

"Found 'em under the beds. I tell you, Bobby, I do not want to know what this place was used for before this."

Bobby grimaced. Neither did he.

"Here," he murmured, lifting up one of the blankets and holding it out to Mike. "Take one. It's cold in here."

Mike looked on the verge of arguing, but then he shrugged and accepted the blanket. Returning to the other bed, he sat down with a sigh of relief and pulled the thin blanket around his shoulders.

"How long was I out?" Bobby asked after a while.

"At a guess? I'd say a few hours, at least," Mike answered. "Do yourself a favour, though, and try not to move around so much? I managed to stop the bleeding, but I don't think it'll take much to get it started again."

Carefully, Bobby lifted the blanket and peered down at his wounded leg. Sure enough, even though the bandages were stained dark red with his blood, the wound itself seemed to have stopped bleeding.

He looked back over at Mike.

"What about you?"

Mike raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Me? What d'you mean?"

"Your… your leg."

"Oh. It's okay, the bullet went straight through. No real damage done, I don't think."

Bobby fell silent, looking away, and once again Mike felt the sickening sensation of guilt taking hold. Despite Bobby's earlier insistence that he wasn't to blame, Mike couldn't stop himself from feeling guilty.

Regardless of Bobby's protests, he was still responsible for taking them to a bar in a part of the city that he knew for fact was not cop-friendly. His bullet wound was definitely less serious than Bobby's. He'd not taken as severe a beating as Bobby had… and hell, it seemed that even his head wound, where he'd been struck to knock him out, was not as bad.

All in all, it was a shocking situation, and one that they should never have found themselves in. It was one that they _wouldn't_ have found themselves in had he not been so eager to drag Bobby all the way across town for the sake of a lousy few shots of whiskey.

Mike swallowed a sigh. Yup, he was feeling pretty damn lousy right about now.

"You know, Eames usually starts throwing things at me when I get like that."

Mike looked up, startled.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

A small smile curled up the corners of Bobby's mouth, and he was quietly pleased having been able to actually get his colleague's attention. He'd guessed easily enough where Mike's thoughts were headed, and he was more than a little anxious to redirect him. He honestly believed in himself that Mike had nothing to feel bad about, but even so, it was not the time nor the place to wallow in guilt.

"When I go all quiet and introspective like you just did… I think Eames calls it 'going spacey'. She usually starts by throwing paperclips at me if I stay like that for too long. And if paperclips don't work, then she'll graduate to pens."

"Which would explain that big blue blotch on your forehead."

Bobby's hand came up automatically to his forehead before he caught the grin on Mike's face. He let his hand drop, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation.

"Funny."

Mike shrugged, still grinning.

"Hey, I usually can't catch you out like that, pal. I'll take what I can get, if you don't mind."

Bobby merely grunted, but he couldn't hide the smile that fought its way onto his face. It wasn't so much amusement at the lame joke that had him smiling, but rather relief that Mike was still inclined to make jokes. He figured as long as they could both keep their sense of humour, then the situation – however bad it might seem – was not completely hopeless.

"Hey, can I tell you something, Bobby?" Mike asked.

Bobby regarded him in mild amusement.

"Should I be worried that you think you need to ask permission?"

"Nah. It's just… I never know whether what I'm going to say might be over-stepping the boundaries with you. Sometimes you just don't seem to care, but other times you seem to get royally pissed off at me, and I can never tell which mood you're in."

It was with some effort that Bobby didn't just laugh out loud.

"Maybe you should start checking with Eames, then. She always seems to be able to tell what mood I'm in."

Mike grunted.

"Maybe I will. So… can I…?"

"You can say what you like," Bobby reassured him. "I'm not going to rip into you. I don't think I have the energy, anyway."

A strange look passed fleetingly over Mike's face, but then it was gone and he shrugged.

"All I wanted to say was that I'm glad I never paid any attention to the stories about you when I joined Major Case. You're a damn good cop, Bobby, and a genuine decent guy. I'm lucky I was given the chance to join the team, and work alongside you and Eames."

Bobby looked thoughtfully at Mike.

"You seriously feel that way?"

"Hell, yeah," Mike confirmed. "And I'm not just saying that because I never want to set foot on Staten Island again."

Bobby snorted, and then laughed. A moment later, Mike joined in.

"You know," Bobby said when he did finally manage to stop laughing, "Eames thought Deakins had lost his mind when he told us he was bringing you in to join the squad."

"Yeah? And I thought we clicked so well that first time when you were investigating that prison guard's murder."

Bobby smirked.

"You might be a ladies' man with all the moves, Mike, but Eames is no ordinary woman."

"Trust me, pal, I noticed _that_."

Bobby looked back at him with raised eyebrows, and Mike smiled sheepishly.

"I mean, hey, who wouldn't?"

Bobby had to concede to that logic, although he still had suspicions about what Mike really meant.

"Well, that's what she thought, and she told Deakins to his face that she thought it was a big mistake."

Mike shifted uncomfortably on the bed. He wasn't sure he liked where this conversation was going.

"And what about now…?"

Bobby smiled reassuringly at him.

"Now, she's glad you stuck it out… and so am I. You're an asset to the squad, Mike."

Mike felt a rush of warmth through him, despite the bitingly cold atmosphere of their basement prison. He was not so fuzzy in the head that he missed the sincerity in Bobby's words.

"Thanks."

Bobby nodded slightly, and winced a little at the pain the movement caused him.

"Well, I meant it."

"You know, I thought I'd be back on Staten Island after my first case with Barek?"

"How so?"

"When the kid made his third hit. Deakins was furious with us. He thought we'd pulled in the wrong suspect."

"Oh, yeah. I heard he was kind of mad at you both."

Mike grunted.

"I think that's a pretty big understatement. He was seriously pissed off."

"Hey, tell me something?"

Mike nodded tentatively. "What is it?"

"Did you really go after a guy with a pool cue?"

For the second time in a short space of time, Mike smiled sheepishly.

"I didn't exactly go _after _him."

"Well, what did you do? Because Deakins and Carver had one hell of an argument with one of the lawyers over it."

"This guy had information we needed, but he was jerking us around. Wouldn't say anything. Now, I admit that I lost my temper, but I never hit the guy. I snapped a pool cue in half, jammed it under his chin, and started walking him back towards the bathroom. He was ready to spill his guts by the time I got him to the door."

"Dare I ask what you would have done if you'd gotten him into the bathroom?"

Mike shrugged.

"Who knows? Probably flushed the bastard's head. I never planned on laying into him. I'd only been at Major Case for two weeks. I wasn't that stupid."

Bobby laughed softly.

"Never said you were, Mike."

"So you've got a different way of doing things," Mike said, again shrugging his indifference. "I don't have the same skills you do. I gotta do things my own way."

"I know," Bobby murmured. "It's okay, Mike. You don't have to justify yourself to me. Just to your partner, and to Deakins. Especially if you get yourself injured."

Mike snorted, and lay down carefully on his left side, draping the blanket over his body. He propped his head up on his hand, watching Bobby with a small smile.

"You ever gotten hurt? That mouth of yours ever _not_ been able to get you out of trouble?"

"Generally speaking, or just in terms of my career as a cop?" Bobby wondered. A grin lit up Mike's face.

"Let's keep it to the time that you've been a cop."

"Okay. Well, I've never been shot in the time that I've been with Major Case… but I've been slapped once in the interrogation room, and I got bitten on the arm once."

"In interrogation?"

"No. We were out on the streets on Veterans' Day about five years ago, looking for a suicide bomber. I got into a fight with the guy, trying to stop him from detonating the bomb. He punched me… I head-butted him… and then he bit me on the arm."

"Ouch."

"No kidding. I needed a tetanus shot after that, and I had teeth marks in my arm for a month afterwards. Son of a bitch bit clean through the uniform I was wearing, and into my arm."

"And the time you got slapped?"

"You remember Connie? The kid we had talk to Ethan Garrett in Rikers? I baited him during interrogation, and he hit me in the face. Damn near knocked me right out of my chair."

"So that's what he meant when he told Ethan that he bitch-slapped a cop in his own squad room."

"Yeah, Logan. That's what he meant."

Mike winced a little at the abrupt tone of Bobby's voice.

"Sorry, I didn't mean that how it came out."

Bobby was silent for a long moment before answering.

"It's okay. I know you didn't."

Annoyed by his own tactlessness, Mike threw the blanket off and got unsteadily to his feet.

"Mike? What are you doing?" Bobby asked with a frown. Mike looked around in growing agitation.

"I am not sitting around here, waiting for this goddamn place to blow up, with us in it. There's gotta be some way to get out of here."

"We've already been through this," Bobby reminded him. Mike nodded as he made his way over to the welded door.

"Yeah, and we got distracted when we realised that we're likely to get blown to pieces in less than forty-eight hours. And then you went into shock." He paused, eyeing the welded lock with a deep frown. "There's gotta be some way of breaking this open."

"With what, Mike?" Bobby asked tiredly. "There's nothing here we can use!"

"Hey, my hands still work, don't they?" Mike retorted.

Frowning now himself, Bobby pushed aside his blanket and sat up slowly.

"What the hell are you going to do?" he asked incredulously. "Break it open with your bare hands? C'mon, Mike, be reasonable. Neither of us is that strong…"

Mike ignored him, grunting as he tried to get a reasonable grip on the welded part of the door, and then started to try and manually break it. Bobby was about to risk getting up to stop him when Mike's hand slipped and he cried out in pain as he tumbled over backwards, landing hard on the cement floor.

"You idiot," Bobby murmured, the faintest hint of amused affection in his voice as he eased himself down to the floor beside his colleague. "Let me look at that."

Mike glumly held his hand out for Bobby to examine. The palm had been torn clean open on a jagged part of the metal weld, and blood was already free-flowing from the wound. Bobby tore a strip from the bottom of his shirt, which he fashioned into a bandage and wrapped carefully around Mike's bleeding hand.

"Great," Mike said dully. "Now I owe you a shirt, too."

Bobby shot Mike a bemused look as he tied off the makeshift bandage.

"I'll settle for you helping me up off the floor. How's that?"

"S'okay. I'm sorry… That was pretty dumb, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Bobby agreed, "but gutsy, too."

Mike sat in silence for nearly a minute, staring miserably at the floor, before speaking.

"I don't want to die in here, Bobby."

"Me, either," Bobby murmured. "We'll get out of here, Mike. Eames and Barek will find us. We just have to trust in them."

Mike looked sideways at Bobby.

"You said it yourself, Bobby. Unless there's a call-out, they're not even going to know we're missing until Monday morning. And by the time they act on it, it'll probably be too late."

"They'll find us," Bobby repeated insistently. "Eames and I have a psychic connection, remember?"

For a long moment, the two men stared at each other. Then, abruptly, they both burst out laughing, a slightly higher-pitched laughter that was just faintly tinged with a hint of hysteria.

"Funny man," Mike retorted as he got up awkwardly, and then grunted as he helped Bobby up. "I tell you one thing, though."

"What's that?"

"The next time either one of us is dumb enough to sit down on the floor, they're picking themselves up."

Sitting back on their respective beds, Bobby looked solemnly across the floor at Mike, and he spoke in a quiet, serious voice.

"We'll get out of here, Mike. Eames and Barek _will_ find us."

"Why?" Mike asked, staring back intently. "Because you say so? Eames is a smart woman, Bobby, and so is Barek. But _we_ don't even know where we are. How the hell are they going to find us?"

Bobby lay back down carefully, and tugged the blanket back over his cold body.

"They'll find us, and it'll be in time, because I can't accept any other outcome."

"As simple as that, huh?" Mike asked softly. Bobby stared up at the ceiling, fresh determination written all over his face.

"As simple as that."

Mike lay down as well and, in the silence that followed, he dared to allow himself a tiny glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, Bobby was right.

* * *

_tbc..._


	4. Shared Nightmares

* * *

When Mike awoke next, he had well and truly lost all track of time. He could honestly say that he didn't even know whether it was day or night.

A brief glance across the floor told him that Bobby was sleeping soundly, which was a relief. Sighing inwardly, Mike slumped back down on the bed. The worst part of this whole lousy situation was not being able to do a damned thing to change it. All they could do was lie around and wait. It wasn't how either of them operated, and they hated it.

Mike stared into the darkness, feeling well and truly sick to his stomach. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this helpless. A small grimace found its way onto his face. Oh yeah, he could. Fifteen years old, and getting the crap beaten out of him by his drunk mother.

He groaned softly, cursing himself for allowing _that_ image back into his head. It sucked as a comparison for this, but one established there in his mind, the memories would not so easily be banished again.

He remembered his teen years with a bitterness that defied belief. The uncertainty of day to day life in those formative years had turned him into a hard-fisted, short-tempered guy who hated being in any situation where he was left feeling out of control. It was also partly the reason why he'd punched out the City Councilman. That, and the bastard had deserved it.

He thought back with curiosity to his first encounter with Bobby and Alex, nearly six months before Captain Deakins expedited his move off Staten Island and into Major Case. An amused smile flickered across his lips as he recalled the moment that the two had walked into Deakins' office.

He remembered being taken aback, even though he'd made a concerted effort not to let his surprise show. An odder pair you couldn't have found for looking, and yet they seemed to fit so well together. They reminded him in some ways of his partnership with the late, great Lennie Briscoe. Connected on every level, in sync, attuned to each other's needs.

Later on, Mike had spent some hours mulling firstly over how a solid, traditional cop like Alex Eames had found herself partnered with a head-case like Bobby Goren and secondly, how she'd found it in herself to stick it out with him for the better part of five years. After all, there were few traditional cops, even in the upper echelons of the NYPD, who could tolerate Bobby's brand of psychobabble. He himself had found it almost impossible to cope with at first.

But then, Bobby had saved them both from being beaten to death within the cold, unfriendly walls of a Staten Island prison, and Mike had been forced to completely re-evaluate his position. That stylised brand of psychobabble that was so uniquely Goren had saved their lives. Mike knew beyond any doubt that the only reason he was still around was because of Bobby.

And yet, despite Bobby's apparent fearlessness in the face of death, Mike had seen something in him that went against everything he'd heard, everything he thought he knew. When the second pair of prison guards had turned up, Mike had seen fear in Bobby's eyes. Stark, stomach-turning fear.

Not a fear of death, he mused. All cops had to face death every day on the job. There was an unspoken acceptance that you could be killed at any given time.

No, this had been different. Bobby had been terrified, not of being killed, but of being beaten. And it was that realisation that had Mike thoroughly intrigued. What, he wondered, had happened in Bobby's life to leave him with that sort of fear?

He'd never dared to ask, of course. It wasn't that he was afraid so much of how Bobby might react to that line of questioning. It was more an ingrained sense of propriety. You just didn't ask stuff like that, not unless you were willing to air your own emotional baggage. End of story.

But still, he wondered.

A strange sound, like a whimper, reached Mike's ears, and he looked curiously over at Bobby. His colleague seemed to be suffering from nightmares. No big surprise there, Mike thought sympathetically. He himself had not exactly had a dream-free slumber, either.

He wondered just what Bobby's nightmare was about, and was contemplating a safe method of waking up him – preferably one that wouldn't get him punched in the face – when Bobby awoke with a start. Easing himself up, Mike crossed the floor to where Bobby half sat up, trembling violently and lathered in sweat.

"Easy, pal," Mike murmured. "Take it easy. It was just a nightmare."

He reached out to Bobby, but stopped short of actually touching him. Until he was certain that Bobby was fully awake, there was just no telling what sort of physical reaction he might have, particularly in light of all that had happened to them.

Slowly, Bobby's eyes lost that glazed look and focused once more, first on Mike and then on their surroundings. He shuddered, and slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"No… It wasn't."

"Here," Mike told him, at the same time pushing one of the water bottles into Bobby's hand. "Have a few sips."

Bobby, however, pushed it away.

"I'm okay."

"I know that," Mike assured him. "Just humour me, okay? Have a drink."

"We only have two bottles of water, Mike."

"I know that, too. Why do you have to be such a pain in the ass, and argue with me? Just drink! You're dehydrated."

"And you're not?"

Mike focused his best intimidating look at Bobby, and pushed the bottle back into Bobby's hand.

"Drink, Goren. Or I'll pour it down your damn throat."

Shaking his head in annoyance, Bobby nevertheless took the bottle and swallowed a few conservative mouthfuls. Then, sighing quietly with a relief that he simply couldn't hide, he pushed the bottle back towards Mike.

"Your turn. Drink."

Mike shook his head.

"No. I don't need it."

Genuine anger flashed across Bobby's face, then.

"Bullshit. Damn you, Logan, don't you dare martyr yourself. Not here, not now. You insisted that I drink. Now you do the same. You are not going to let yourself go thirsty because you've got a guilt complex."

Grimacing, and embarrassed by the truth in Bobby's words, Mike accepted the water and took a couple of mouthfuls.

"Never thought water could ever taste so good," he remarked as he reluctantly screwed the lid back on. Bobby smiled humourlessly.

"Give it another twenty-four hours, and it'll seem like the elixir of life."

Mike paused, taking the liberty of checking Bobby's leg wound before retreating back to the other bed.

"So, do you remember what you were dreaming about?" Mike asked. Immediately, Bobby's expression clouded over.

"I don't remember."

Mike raised an eyebrow sceptically.

"Really."

"Yes," Bobby snapped. "Really."

"Okay. So… I'd guess it was probably to do with your mom, then? Or, maybe your dad?"

"Leave it alone, Mike."

Frustration bubbled over in Mike, finally, and he snapped back angrily.

"Hey, in case it escaped your attention, genius, we're probably going to die in here! So how about cutting out the bullshit, and ditching the strong silent type routine? Damn, Bobby…"

Bobby watched Mike with more than a hint of bitterness.

"So, because we might be facing our deaths, we should both go into the caring, sharing mode?"

Mike lay back down with a heavy thud, and rolled awkwardly onto his side, facing away from Bobby.

"Fuck you. I was just trying make things a little more bearable."

Bobby silently on the bed for a good couple of minutes, staring at Mike's back, before speaking in a heavily subdued voice.

"It was about my mother."

For a long moment, Mike didn't respond. Then, finally, he shifted and rolled back over, watching Bobby with a piercing stare. Bobby went on, forcing himself to hold Mike's gaze as he spoke.

"You… You know she's schizophrenic… that she's at Carmel Ridge."

Mike nodded wordlessly. That was information that had pretty much become public knowledge, thanks to Judge Harold Garrett. Bobby continued to speak softly.

When I was a kid… I think I was eight or nine… She started having delusions that centred around me. She'd see me as being possessed by… by demons. She'd beat me, and then lock me in the basement. It was always pitch dark down there. Sometimes she'd leave me there all night."

"What about your old man?" Mike asked, frowning. "He didn't bail until you were a bit older. And what your brother?"

"Dad started coming home drunk on a regular basis," Bobby admitted. "Most times he forgot I even existed. The few times he did think to let me out, he usually ended up belting me around as well. As for Richie, he spent a lot of time at friends' houses, just to get away from it. So it was pretty much just my mom and me."

"And I thought I had it bad with my mom," Mike muttered. He glanced around. "No wonder this has you freaked out. Did she… beat you bad?"

"Most times no," Bobby murmured. "It was frightening more than anything. But every so often, she'd really lose it, and then she would hurt me. The… the worst was when she split my head open, and broke my arm."

"Ouch. How'd she manage that?"

"It was when I was twelve. I came home from school, and found she'd smashed every mirror in the house. She said they were portals, and the demons were trying to get through. I was trying to calm her down when she found a hand-held mirror that her grandmother had given her. She smashed it over my head, and then threw me into the basement. I landed on my arm, and broke it."

"My sympathies," Mike said ruefully. "My mom beat the shit out of me all the time, but she was just a drunk, plain and simple."

Bobby raised his eyes finally to meet Mike's.

"Your mom used to beat you?"

"Yeah. She'd send me to the liquor store for her daily supplies, get drunk, and then beat the hell out of me. It was pretty much a daily cycle. I know it sounds wrong, but I have to tell you, Bobby, I never shed a tear the day she died."

"Same for my dad," Bobby admitted quietly. "When he died, I was relieved."

"Did he ever try get back in contact with you?"

"Once. It was just after I started at Major Case. I don't know how he found me, and I don't want to know. I'm assuming someone tipped him off. Anyway, he showed up there one day, wanting to talk to me. I did… for all of fifteen minutes. He hadn't changed. Everything was still about him, and about how _his_ life had been so hard. He didn't even have the balls to say sorry for what he did to us. I cut it off when he asked for money to cover his latest gambling debt."

"Lousy piece of shit."

"Yeah," Bobby agreed softly. "He was."

"Well," Mike said finally, "I say that when we get out of this dump, we go have a commiserating drink together. I know this great little bar over in the Bronx…"

Mike had no time to duck as a thin pillow went flying across the floor and smacked him square in the face.

* * *

_tbc..._


	5. Something's Not Right

_Sometime later..._

"How's the hand?"

Mike looked up at Bobby questioningly, then gave a lopsided shrug.

"It hurts, but it's not so bad. I've had worse."

Bobby looked doubtful.

"Can you move your fingers?"

Mike's eyebrows went up at the question.

"Does it matter?"

"Just answer me, Logan."

Mike squared his jaw and flexed his fingers. Or rather, tried to. After a moment's effort, he looked up at Bobby with fresh fear in his eyes.

"I… I can't move them, Bobby."

"Okay, don't panic on me," Bobby warned him. "Now tell me, can you still feel them?"

Mike frowned a little, and then pinched lightly at the uncooperative digits with his uninjured hand. The pained wince on his face told Bobby that yes, he could still feel them at least.

"Yeah, I can feel them," he confirmed. "But why the fuck can't I move them?"

"Nerve damage," Bobby answered. "You cut it deep, Mike."

Mike let his breath out in a rush.

"Nerve damage. Shit. That could be permanent, couldn't it?"

"Maybe," Bobby admitted, "if it goes for too long without treatment. Just make sure you say something if you lose all sensation completely."

"Yeah, for all the good it'll do," Mike muttered. He groaned softly and lay back down with a thud. "My hand… Your leg… Fucking brilliant. What a way to spend the weekend. And none of it's going to matter if we don't get out of here before the place gets blown to kingdom come. We don't even know how far away that is. Bastards even took our watches."

An amused smile found its way on Bobby's face.

"You own a watch?"

"Yeah, of course I do. What kind of a dumb ass question is that?"

"Sorry," Bobby apologised, though by then he couldn't keep the grin off his face. "I just figured you didn't, because you never seem to get into the squad room on time in the morning."

Mike shrugged lopsidedly.

"And you always arrive about an hour and a half before you need to. I just balance the equation."

Bobby grinned. He was really starting to like Mike's 'never say die' attitude and sense of humour.

"Try convincing Deakins of that," he shot back. Mike snorted derisively.

"Why should I bother trying? That's what the squad has got you for. To convince Deakins of the impossible."

Bobby laughed softly.

"I knew I had to be useful for something."

"Well, there you go."

Silence fell for a while before either man spoke again. Bobby shifted a little, trying to work himself into a more comfortable position – preferably one that wouldn't leave him with an aching back and a numb ass.

He tried to shift around, only to cry out involuntarily as fiery pain flared through his leg. Mike started up, startled and concerned.

"Bobby? What is it?"

Bobby shuddered violently, tears filling his eyes even as he struggled to block the pain from his consciousness. It wasn't working.

"What is it?" Mike asked again as he got awkwardly to his feet and limped over. "Talk to me, Bobby. Is it your leg?"

"Yes," Bobby managed to whisper, at the same time choking back a strangled sob. Mike carefully lifted the blanket, and felt his stomach roll at the sight before him. Bobby's left leg was black and blue around the area of the bullet wound, and down the rest of the length of his leg, the veins stood out painfully in ugly lines against the otherwise pale flesh.

"Fuck," Mike whispered as he recognised the tell-tale signs of blood poisoning. Bobby's need for medical attention had just been ramped up several notches and unless they got out of there soon, there was a chance that Bobby could lose his leg.

He grimaced. Assuming they got out of their grim predicament alive at all.

Shaking the bleak thought from his mind, Mike grabbed the nearest bottle of water and held it carefully to Bobby's lips, encouraging him to sip freely.

"Drink," Mike ordered him, and Bobby was too dazed to protest. "We've gotta get you re-hydrated. Since I don't have any penicillin on me, we've gotta work with what we've got." He paused, looking around grimly at their bleak surroundings. "Which isn't a hell of a lot."

Bobby coughed, and pushed the water away after several long sips.

"Enough… Gonna be sick…"

Mike took the bottle away and placed the blanket back over Bobby's trembling form, for he still shivered violently with a chill. After a moment's consideration, Mike then grabbed the second blanket and placed it over Bobby as well.

"Mike, don't…" Bobby mumbled dazedly. Mike shook his head, and had no problems holding down Bobby's hand when the big detective tried to push off the blankets.

"Leave it, Bobby," Mike told him sternly. "You need them. We've got to keep you warm and hydrated, so don't argue with me."

Bobby finally gave up fighting, and let his hands drop back to his sides. Mike nodded in gratification.

"Good. Now, just rest easy, okay? I'll keep an eye on you, I promise. And I bet Eames and Barek will find us in no time."

Bobby looked around at Mike with eyes that were slightly glazed, and unfocused.

"You… You believe they'll find us?"

Mike returned Bobby's gaze with the surest look he could manage.

"I have to believe it. Otherwise, we might as well just up and die right here and now. I'm not going to give in. I'm not ready to die, and I'm not going to fucking die in this place. Neither are you. Do you hear me?"

Bobby shuddered as he looked away. He had heard, but he had no energy left to answer, and he wasn't sure he could have answered positively even if he did. A hand closed gently over his own, and he looked back to see Mike watching him with a small, encouraging smile.

"We'll get through this, Bobby," Mike insisted. "We'll live to fight another day."

"Tacky, Logan," Bobby mumbled.

The last thing he saw before he slipped into the painless relief of sleep was Mike's grin as he settled down on the floor beside the cot.

* * *

_Sunday morning  
5.08 am_

Alex awoke to the sound of her cell phone ringing shrilly beside the bed. Groaning, she reached out for the offending device, in half a mind to throw it at the far wall.

"Damn you, Goren," she grumped. "Can't you let a girl sleep in…?"

Then she checked the caller ID, and snapped very abruptly back into awareness.

"Eames…"

"_Eames, it's Captain Deakins. I'm sorry to call you like this on a Sunday, but I have a case for you, and it can't wait._"

Alex bit back a sigh. Well, there went the weekend.

"Okay, sir. Let me have details, and I'll pick Bobby up on the way."

"_All right. Do me a favour, and let Barek and Logan know as well? I want all four of you looking into this one._"

Alex decided to refrain from mentioning that Carolyn was at her apartment. All else aside, it was no one else's business.

"All right, Captain. I'll let them know."

She ended the call just as Carolyn wandered in, dazed with sleep and a mild hangover.

"Was that Deakins?"

"Yeah," Alex confirmed, trying to stifle a wide yawn. "We got a case."

"We?"

"Mm-hmm. Deakins wants all four of us on the case. C'mon, let's throw some clothes on, and we'll pick up the boys on the way."

Carolyn grunted as she headed for the bathroom.

"You know they were going to some bar together on Friday night?"

Alex regarded her in surprise.

"How do you know that?"

"Mike sent me a text message. I think he saw it as some sort of victory that he convinced Bobby to go with him."

"Must've been a rough day," Alex mused with little sympathy. "Bobby's not usually one for the bar scene. Especially not with a guy like Logan." She shook her head, putting it from her mind with ease. "You want a shower, Carolyn?"

"Mm, yes, please."

"Okay, go ahead. I'll call Bobby, and tell him we'll be around to pick him up in twenty."

"Don't call Mike," Carolyn said as she paused in the doorway of the bathroom. "Leave that to me. He's probably totally hung-over."

Alex grinned, quickly catching on.

"Cruel woman."

Carolyn only grinned in reply, and disappeared into the bathroom.

* * *

Carolyn came out of the bathroom ten minutes later looking more awake than she really felt. She accepted with gratitude the mug of coffee that Alex offered her, but it wasn't until she'd taken a few mouthfuls that she finally noticed the worried look on Alex's face.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't get a hold of Bobby. He's not answering his cell phone, or his home phone."

"Well, maybe he's doing something where he can't hear it ringing," Carolyn suggested. "Maybe he's in the shower, or something…"

"No, he'd have heard it ringing," Alex said with a frown. "I tried three times just in case that was it. He would have answered it by the third time if he was in the shower. And if he's not at home, he still should have his cell phone with him."

Carolyn shrugged.

"Maybe he's with a friend?"

"At five-thirty in the morning?" Alex asked incredulously. Again, Carolyn shrugged.

"Female friend, maybe?"

"He still would have answered his cell. I'm going to try Lewis."

Before Carolyn had a chance to ask who Lewis was, Alex had already dialled the number. It was answered on the fifth ring.

"_Lewis, here. Whoever this is, you'd better have a damn good reason for calling so early_."

"Lewis, it's Alex."

Abruptly, the voice on the other end sounded considerably more perky.

"_Hey, Detective Alex! Whassup?_"

"Lewis, is Bobby there with you? I can't reach him on his cell phone, and I know you guys were planning to catch up last night."

Her question was answered with a long silence. She was about to try again when Lewis spoke tentatively.

"_Well_…_ Yeah, we were supposed to meet up last night, but he never showed. I_…_ I figured it was work, or something, and I didn't bother trying to reach him._"

Alex felt her stomach drop.

"So, he's not there."

"_No, sorry. I don't know where he is._"

"Okay, Lewis. Thanks."

"_Hey, Detective Alex, let me know when you find him, okay? I'd like to know that he's okay._"

"So would I, Lewis," she answered before ending the call. She looked around at Carolyn in growing worry.

"Lewis hasn't seen him. He doesn't know where Bobby is."

"I just tried Mike's cell and home phones," Carolyn said as she slipped her own cell phone back into her pocket. "He's not answering, either. I don't know whether to be worried or not."

Alex sighed as she grabbed her coat.

"Deakins is going to kill them both. C'mon, let's go deal with a crime scene."

* * *

Deakins was waiting for them when they arrived at One Police Plaza a couple of hours later. He did not look happy.

"Where the hell are your partners?" he demanded to know as they walked into the squad room. The two detectives exchanged grim looks. Here went everything.

"We don't know," Alex admitted. "We can't reach either of them on their cell phones, and neither one is at home."

Carolyn shook her head in irritation as she paused by Mike's desk.

"Well, now I know why Mike didn't answer his cell phone."

Deakins looked over to see her holding up a cell phone.

"That's his?"

"Yeah. It was on his desk. He must have left it there on Friday night."

The anger that filled Deakins' face was a sight to behold. Before he had a chance to speak, though, Alex got in first.

"Captain, I don't know about Mike, but Bobby wouldn't just not answer his phone. I called his buddy Lewis, but Lewis doesn't know where he is either, and they were supposed to meet up last night to go out."

The anger in Deakins' eyes faded somewhat at that, to be replaced by a troubled look. He immediately understood what Alex _wasn't_ saying. Bobby was a reliable person, and he wouldn't have simply not bothered to turn up to a planned get-together with as good a friend as Lewis. And he was _never_ without his cell phone, even in those moments when he most felt like being alone. It just didn't happen.

Deakins let his breath out in a long hiss. Something was very, very wrong.

"Okay," he said finally. "Find something to do for the moment. I'm going to make a couple of calls."

* * *

Ten minutes later, they were called into Deakins' office. The captain no longer looked angry, but rather extremely worried. He handed Alex a single page that had a short list on it.

"That's a list of who was working on Friday. Start calling them, and find out whether Goren or Logan mentioned their plans for Friday night to anyone. They left here together, and I'm assuming they were planning on hitting a bar together somewhere."

Alex took the list, the first hints of genuine fear in her eyes.

"Sir…?"

"I just spoke to the staff at Carmel Ridge," Deakins told them grimly. "Bobby never turned up yesterday for his weekly visit with his mother."

Alex felt her stomach drop unpleasantly for the second time that morning. Deakins nodded, taking in her expression grimly.

"Since we all know that there's no way in hell he'd miss visiting her, I think we can officially make this a Missing Persons investigation. I want you two to drop everything else on your plates, and find your partners. I think we can assume they've both been missing since Friday night, so do whatever you have to, but _find them_."

Alex nodded, hoping she sounded steadier than she was feeling.

"We will."

* * *

"I'm gonna kill Mike," Carolyn growled as they left Deakins' office. When Alex looked at her questioningly, she elaborated. "Whatever's happened to them, I'm sure it's probably his fault."

"That's a bit harsh," Alex murmured. "Bobby can be as big an idiot when he tries hard enough."

"That's just it. Mike doesn't have to try. He just is."

Alex smiled faintly, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. All of a sudden, she felt afraid, acutely afraid for her partner's wellbeing, and all she could hope was that wherever Bobby was, he was safe.

* * *

_tbc..._


	6. Making Progress

_Major Case Squad_

Half an hour later, the two detectives had finished speaking to their colleagues. Alex sat back with a thud, frustrated. Of the six detectives she'd called, three hadn't spoken to either Mike or Bobby at all on Friday; two had spoken to them, but had no useful information and the sixth was sure Mike had mentioned a bar, but now couldn't remember which one.

"No joy?" Carolyn asked as she joined Alex at her desk.

"None," Alex admitted. "What about you?"

"I hope so. I talked to Pete Styner. He couldn't recall an exact name, but he said he remembers hearing Mike telling Bobby something about the intersection of Sumner Avenue and Gray Street as they were leaving on Friday night."

"Sumner and Gray? That's in the Bronx. What the hell would they be doing, going all the way over to the Bronx, just to go to a bar?"

"Mike's idea, I'll bet," Carolyn muttered. "The idiot."

"Don't be so quick to judge," Alex advised her. "Even if it was Mike's suggestion, Bobby didn't have to agree, and I told you he's done his fair share of stupid things over the last five years." She grabbed her keys. "Let's tell Deakins, and then head out there."

* * *

"The Bronx?" Deakins echoed incredulously when Alex and Carolyn told him what they'd learnt. "Had they both lost their minds? Cops do not go to that area of New York for a casual, off-duty drink!"

"We don't even know if there's a bar near there," Carolyn started to say but Deakins cut her off, even as he stood up and grabbed his coat.

"There's a bar just near that intersection called O'Reilly's. It's got a good reputation for serving high quality whiskey, and a bad reputation for the people who frequent it. It is not a cop-friendly environment. If Goren and Logan went there, and someone made them, anything could have happened."

"Uh… Sir… What are you doing?" Alex asked as Deakins headed for the door. He looked back at them, a steely look in his grey eyes.

"I'm going with you, and before either you argue with me, hear me out. I don't doubt you can back each other up adequately, but Goren and Logan both top six foot four, and Goren in particular is built like a brick wall. They were both armed, and now they're both missing."

Alex and Carolyn exchanged grim looks. Deakins' point had been very firmly made.

"Okay," Alex said ruefully. "Let's go."

* * *

Alex and Carolyn quickly realised that Deakins hadn't been kidding when he said the area they were headed to was not cop friendly. From the moment they got out of the SUV, near O'Reilly's, they were subjected to both hateful glares and vicious insults, even though they kept their badges and any other trademarks identifying features well hidden.

"If Bobby and Mike came here, they really were out of their minds," Alex muttered as they approached the door of the bar. "Mike might be able to pull off the scruffy 'I'm not a cop' look, but Bobby would have stood out like a sore thumb."

Nodding in grim agreement, Deakins leaned in and rapped hard on the door.

"We're closed!" a voice hollered from within. "Come back at five!"

Exchanging glances with the women, Deakins knocked again, harder. A minute later, the door was opened by a sour-faced barman.

"I told you, we're closed… Ah, shit. Cops?"

"Relax," Carolyn told him as she pushed her way inside unceremoniously. "We're not busting you for anything. Yet. We're after information."

"Oh yeah? What kind of information? And what's it worth?"

Alex glared at him. "It's worth us not bothering to haul your ass back to our precinct. Firstly, what's your name?"

"Zach. Zach Brady."

"Okay, Mr Brady. Tell us, did you see either of these men on Friday night?"

Alex held up photos of Bobby and Mike. For a split second, recognition flooded Zach's eyes. Then, his gaze went dark as the shutters fell back into place.

"Don't know 'em. Haven't seen 'em. Don't know what you want with 'em, but they haven't been around here."

Carolyn leaned in close to him.

"Are you positive about that?"

"Absolutely. So if that's all you p… you cops want, you can just take yourselves the hell outta my bar."

"We have good reason to believe that both of these men were here on Friday night," Deakins said. Zach shrugged.

"Friday nights are always busy. Maybe they _were_ here, but I don't remember."

"I think you're lying to us, Mr Brady," Carolyn said coolly. Zach didn't bat an eye. Slipping past Alex, he pulled the door wide open.

"Yeah, well, until you can actually prove that, lady, do me a favour and get the hell outta my bar. I got a reputation to uphold, and you three are sullying it."

"We _will_ be back," Deakins warned him as they exited the bar. Zach smirked right back at him.

"And I'll be looking forward to it."

* * *

"I'm going to try Bobby's cell phone again," Alex said, her voice laced with increasing aggravation. Pulling out her cell phone, she hit speed dial for her partner's number, and waited. A moment passed, and at the same moment that Alex's phone began to sound dial tones, they all picked up the distinct sound of a cell phone ringing somewhere inside the bar.

"What the fuck…?" Alex muttered. Careful not to cancel the call, she wheeled around and pushed her way back into the bar just as Zach was trying to close the door behind them.

"Hey!" Zach protested. "You can't…"

"I suggest you shut up," Deakins warned him threateningly as Alex and Carolyn went in search of the source of the ringing. Alex quickly found the phone stashed in behind the bar.

"This yours?" she asked, staring piercingly at Zach. The bartender reddened just slightly, but had the good grace not to lie again.

"Uh, no. It, uh… It got left here on Friday night."

"By one of these guys?" Carolyn asked, indicating the photos again. Thoroughly embarrassed, Zach nodded.

"Yeah. Look, I'm sorry I lied, but I get cops in here all the time, harassing my customers. And I didn't think there was anything wrong with those two. Mike's been coming here for years, and the other guy seemed okay, too."

"You're a pretty good judge of character then, Mr Brady," Carolyn said coolly. "They're about as okay as you can get. They're both cops."

Zach's jaw dropped.

"Cops? You're shittin' me! Fuck…"

"Maybe not such a good judge of character," Alex retorted. Deakins laid a firm hand on Zach's shoulder.

"How about you tell us everything you remember about their visit here on Friday night, and then maybe we can avoid that trip to downtown Manhattan."

* * *

Mike awoke to a numb butt, and a sore and stiff neck. He looked around dazedly, blanking out for just a moment over where he was, before reality sank in once more.

"Shit," he muttered sourly, and turned around awkwardly to get a look at Bobby. The other detective seemed to be sleeping peacefully for the moment, and Mike had no intention of waking him.

Shifting again, he looked over at the water bottles. Both were a fraction less than half full. They'd tried to be conservative in their water consumption to start with, but the grim turn of events with Bobby getting blood poisoning had sent those efforts flying out the proverbial window.

After a long moment's consideration, Mike took both bottles and poured half the contents of one into the other, leaving them with one bottle that was three quarters full, and the other just under a quarter full. Mike place the three quarter full bottle on the floor by Bobby's bed, and took the other as his own.

He knew damn well that if Bobby found out what he'd just done, that he'd object to it, but he had to find out first. Mike knew which of them needed the water more, and besides, Bobby was in no fit state to protest anything.

Taking the lid off his bottle, Mike took a small sip, relishing the cool liquid in his dry mouth. Bobby had been right, he reflected ruefully. Right at that moment, the water tasted better than any whiskey. He laughed bitterly. Ambrosia wouldn't have tasted any better.

Resisting the powerful urge to finish off what was left in the bottle, Mike put the lid back on and pushed it firmly away.

"Wouldn't wanna miss the grand finale," he mumbled, and then laughed hoarsely at his bad humour.

"Mike…? What's so funny?"

Mike twisted around to see that Bobby was awake, and watching him quizzically.

"Nothing," Mike answered dismissively. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I got beaten up, shot in the leg and locked in a cage."

"Really? Me, too. Here, have a drink."

Bobby started to object that they needed to be more conservative with the water, only to be brought up short when Mike held the nearly full bottle of water out to him. He stared at it for several seconds before looking back at his companion suspiciously.

"I thought we'd used more than this."

"Guess not," Mike answered with a shrug. "Go on, have a few mouthfuls. It's okay."

Still Bobby hesitated, though. Something was not right with this, but in his current, muddled state of mind, he just couldn't figure out what that something might be. He knew Mike was pulling a fast one on him, but he simply couldn't work out how.

"Will you drink?" Mike growled. "It's not fucking tainted."

Reluctantly, Bobby accepted the water and took a couple of tiny sips. Mike groaned and shook his head.

"Damn it, Bobby. You're sick. You have blood poisoning. You have to keep hydrated. So will you drink the goddamn water?"

Frowning at Mike, Bobby finally gave in and swallowed a few mouthfuls.

"No more," he said, pushing the bottle back to Mike. "Save it for later."

"Good enough," Mike conceded. He sighed heavily as he set the bottle aside. "I wish there was some way to know just how long we've been stuck in here."

Bobby glanced at him with a grim smile.

"You really want to know that?"

Mike was silent for a long moment before answering.

"No. Not really. I just hate not knowing whether it's day or night. My body clock's all fucked up."

Bobby chuckled softly.

"I don't really care one way or the other."

"I know you don't," Mike said, smirking when Bobby looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "I've seen your bedroom, Goren. You live like a damned vampire."

"You want another pillow in the face, Logan?"

Mike grinned widely at him, and was pleased when Bobby grinned in return.

"Chill, pal. I was just kidding."

Bobby smirked, but said nothing. Mike was silent for a few minutes before speaking again.

"Mind if I ask you something personal?"

Bobby hesitated in answering. He'd already shared more of his personal life with Mike than he had ever shared with anyone other than his partner.

"Hey, if you're not comfortable, it's okay," Mike reassured him, breaking abruptly into Bobby's thought process. Bobby swallowed back a sigh. What the hell did it matter, anyway?

"It's okay," he conceded quietly. "Go ahead. Ask."

"Well… I just wondered… Out of all the variations on your name that you could go with, why opt for Bobby? I don't think I've ever met a grown man who preferred being called Bobby over Robert."

Bobby smiled faintly. Only one other person had ever asked him that question, and her name was Alex.

"It goes back to my parents. When Mum was doing okay, I was always 'Bobby' to her. When she deteriorated, I'd become 'Robert', and 'Robert' was almost always 'one of them'. When I was 'Bobby' to her, it meant I could just be a kid again."

"I get that," Mike murmured. "But what about your old man?"

"According to him, Robert was what was on my birth certificate, and that was all he was going to call me. I guess he didn't count things like 'little bastard', 'reject', 'waste of space' and 'fucking little pansy'."

"What a bastard," Mike muttered.

"Yeah," Bobby agreed. "He was. I decided pretty early that I preferred being called Bobby, mainly because Dad didn't like it. I'll never forget the day I actually told him that."

"You told him? To his face?"

"Yes, when I was nearly thirteen, a couple of years after he walked out. He actually had the nerve to show up on Thanksgiving, but only because his current girlfriend had just dumped him."

"So, what happened?"

"He was ordering me around… Robert do this, Robert do that. I turned around and said I wanted to be called Bobby. He went very quiet, and wanted to know why… I should have known better, but I didn't think. I just said to his face that I wanted to be called that because I knew he didn't like it."

"And…?" Mike pressed when Bobby hesitated. The big detective stared up at the bars above their heads.

"I remember him grabbing for me, and nothing after that. When I woke up, I was in Emergency at the hospital with a fractured skull and a right arm that was broken in three places. Dad was gone, and Mom told the doctor that I tripped and fell carrying ice up from the basement. Dad never came home again after that."

"Fuck," Mike muttered. "That son of a bitch. I guess this is part of the reason we both became cops, huh? To try and help people, so that they don't have to live with all the crap like we did."

"That's one reason," Bobby agreed softly. He paused, and then asked quietly, "What about you?"

Mike knew what he meant without having to ask.

"I don't really remember my father, and my mum only ever called me Mike when she was sober."

"Which was how often…?"

"Try, never."

"Mm. I figured."

"Anyone calls me Michael now, and it just reminds me of her. So, I stick with Mike. It sounds better, anyway. You know, Bobby… we're not all that different."

Bobby glanced at Mike in mild amusement.

"How do you figure?"

"I know we're totally different personalities, but we both survived a seriously crappy childhood. That's gotta count for something."

Bobby considered that, and had to concede that Mike was right. He did feel some small sense of solidarity with his fellow detective.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly. "It does."

* * *

_tbc..._


	7. Talking Points

* * *

The conversation with bartender Zach had turned out to be more productive then they had hoped for. They'd learned that Bobby and Mike had spent nearly three hours in the bar, downing nearly a dozen shots of whiskey between them before Bobby had finally encouraged Mike to leave. And by encouraged, they had been amused to hear that Bobby had almost had to carry his colleague out the door. Zach claimed not to have noticed the cell phone until after they'd left, and that he had been too busy to even think about going after them. 

With much reluctance, Zach went on to tell them about one of his regulars who had come over to the bar after Bobby and Mike had left, asking if Zach knew who they were. Zach had told the man that Mike was an old customer from way back when, and that his companion was just a co-worker.

"_He got kind of weird,"_ Zach had explained, frowning as he recalled the conversation. _"He said, you really don't pay much attention to folks, do you, Zachie? I hate being called Zachie. Anyways, I said, nah. As long as they pay their bill, I'm good. Then he says to me, if anyone comes asking about those two, you make sure to tell 'em you never saw 'em. Got it? I just went along with it, you know. Ben isn't the kinda guy you argue with. Anyways, then Ben signals to his buddies… about six or seven of 'em all up, I think there was… and they all left together. And that was it."_

"_Who was this Ben?" _Carolyn had asked, acutely aware of the way that both Alex and the captain had tensed.

"_Just one of my regulars."_

"_His name, smart guy. What's his name? And where can we find him?"_

At that, Zach had suddenly looked seriously frightened.

"_Are you out of your fucking mind, lady? You think I'm gonna tell you where to find the likes of Benny Matera?"_

At the sound of that name, Carolyn had felt her stomach drop. Benjamin Matera was widely known as one of the top enforcers for the powerful Masucci family. He was violent and cruel, the worst kind of sadist.

"_Never mind, Zachie,"_ she'd said, patting the bartender patronisingly on the cheek. _"I'm sure we can find him on our own."

* * *

_

"Benny Matera," Deakins muttered as they returned to the SUV. "God almighty, what have they gotten themselves into?"

"Well," Alex said in a strained voice, "that settles it. They were definitely made." She looked around. "So let's look at it logically. Bobby and Mike come out of the bar…"

"Drunk as skunks," Carolyn added ruefully. Alex nodded.

"They probably made it to the corner, and were going to call a cab…"

"Except Mike left his phone at work, and Bobby left his behind in the bar," Carolyn said.

"Right," Alex mused. "Benny Matera and his boys made them in the bar, and followed them out." She shook her head. "We have to find Matera, or one of his lackies."

"That's easier said than done," Deakins pointed out as they got back into the SUV. "Matera is very good at staying under the radar. He won't be easily found if he doesn't want to be."

"Then we nail one of his buddies," Carolyn said firmly. "I know a place not too far from here where we could find one of two of them."

Deakins nodded his agreement.

"All right. Let's go."

The SUV pulled away from the curb, and none of the occupants noticed the pair of eyes that watched them piercingly from the dark shadows of the alley.

* * *

After hours of sitting on his ass, Mike had finally had enough. Agitated and angry, he pulled himself to his feet and began to limp around the perimeter of their prison, searching once more for some means of getting free. Bobby watched him wordlessly for nearly five minutes before speaking tiredly. 

"Sit down, Mike. You're making me nauseous."

Mike walked over and sat down carefully on the edge of the cot. Almost absent-mindedly, he picked up the bottle of water and held to Bobby to drink.

"I don't need any water," Bobby protested. "I'm fine. We ought to be trying to conserve it."

Mike wouldn't back down.

"Just have a sip. Humour me, okay? I'd rather you have a lot of little sips regularly, than get dehydrated and end up even sicker than you already are."

"I'm already dehydrated, Mike," Bobby pointed out, though he accepted the bottle and took a couple of small sips to appease his friend. "So are you. I haven't seen you have a drink for hours."

"I'm okay. I had a mouthful of water earlier, when you were asleep."

Bobby's gaze narrowed with fresh suspicion.

"Let me see your water bottle."

Mike regarded him bemusedly.

"Why?"

"Just hand it over, Logan. Now."

"What, you're pulling seniority on me? Over a water bottle? Damn, Bobby…"

"Just give it to me," Bobby growled. Mike sighed, and reached down for his water bottle. He simply didn't have it in him anymore to argue.

Bobby stared at Mike's water bottle in dismay as he finally realised what Mike had done. It was less than a quarter full now, after Mike had taken another couple of mouthfuls. His own bottle now held barely a third of its capacity, so between the two of them they had not even half a bottle of water.

"Mike, you idiot," Bobby said softly, but there was no anger in his voice. He knew what Mike had been trying to do, and he appreciated it more than he could properly voice.

"You need it more than I do," Mike said simply. "I'm not the one with blood poisoning."

"I don't want to argue about this, Mike."

"So don't argue," Mike told him, smirking a little. Bobby sighed and slumped back onto the bed.

"I'm sick of lying here."

"Yeah, you and me both, pal," Mike said wearily. "I tell you, when we get out of here, I'm gonna find that flat-nosed bastard and beat the shit out of him for this."

"Get a grip, Mike," Bobby muttered. "Do you _want_ to go back to Staten Island?"

"No, but I hate scumbags getting the jump on me, too."

"How about we just focus on getting out of this dump? You can throw your career away on a revenge junket later."

Mike grinned down at him.

"You're no fun. C'mon, Bobby, you can't tell me you wouldn't like to nail that son of a bitch."

"Yes, I would," Bobby agreed, "but legally. We could put him in jail for life for this… Assault of police officers, abduction, false imprisonment, attempted murder…"

"Murder," Mike added dryly, and chuckled when Bobby punched him lightly on the arm.

"Positive thoughts, remember?" Bobby chided him lightly.

"Yeah, I'll be sure to remember that when this place starts imploding around us."

"If you're going to be morbid, then shut up."

Mike laughed again.

"Okay, okay. Positive thoughts. So, in that vein, Carolyn and Alex should be out searching for us right now. They'll probably be here any minute, right?"

"Yeah," Bobby agreed, though he sounded less than convinced. "Any minute."

"Hey, you were the one lecturing me on staying positive," Mike retorted.

"I know. I'm already regretting it."

Chuckling softly, Mike eased himself back onto his feet and resumed pacing.

"Mike…" Bobby started to protest, but Mike shook his head.

"Don't tell me to sit down. I've gotta keep moving."

"Why? It's not going to anything for you physically."

"Maybe not," Mike conceded, "but it'll keep me sane."

"You mean you were before this?"

Mike looked over at Bobby incredulously.

"I'll put that comment down to the fever you must have."

"Sorry," Bobby apologised wryly. He paused, and then pushed himself awkwardly up into a sitting position. "I have to admit, I did wonder, though. I mean, why else would a smart, talented cop throw away his career for the sake of one punch?"

"You mean that councilman?" Mike mused. "Yeah, well… Maybe it wasn't exactly worth ten years on lousy Staten Island, but it felt pretty damn good at the time. My only real regret was losing Lennie Briscoe as a partner."

"You were partnered with Briscoe?" Bobby asked, and Mike nodded.

"Yeah. We were good friends. He taught me a hell of a lot."

Bobby smiled. "From the looks of it, you know a lot that he _didn't_ teach you, too."

"Like snapping a pool cue in half and threatening a suspect with it?" Mike retorted, and Bobby laughed.

"Yeah, something like that."

"You met Briscoe, then?" Mike wondered.

"About four and a half years ago," Bobby told him. "Eames and I were working a case… suspected drug tampering. We didn't know how wide-spread it might be, or whether it was some nutcase targeting specific people, but the brass wanted to keep it quiet, and just sweep it all under the carpet. We met with Briscoe and his partner, Ed Green, and they sent an anonymous tip to the Media."

Mike smirked. "Yep, Lennie would've jumped at a chance like that."

"We counted on it," Bobby said.

"So, you caught the guy who was doing the tampering?"

"Yeah, except it was a woman, and she originally killed her own husband, and then started planting tampered drugs in shops, so that when the story hit the press, she'd be able to sue over it. She wanted the money to start a baby clothes store."

Mike blinked, stunned.

"You're kidding me. All that… just for baby clothes? Jeez, some people really will do anything."

"She was even willing to let her own mother take the rap for the murders, while she thought she was home clear. It wasn't until we clued in the chain management and they threatened to cancel her contract that she thought she'd better do something about it. That was how we got her. We filmed her placing an envelope with proof that she was the killer in the mail."

"Is it just me," Mike wondered, "or does New York seem to have a higher quota of crazies, compared to the rest of the country?"

Bobby smiled wryly.

"Well, considering our current situation, I'd be inclined to agree with you. Mike, how's your hand?"

Abruptly, Mike turned away and limped over to the far side of the cage, keeping his injured hand conspicuously out of sight.

"It's fine."

"Mike…"

"I said, it's fine!" Mike looked back at Bobby, his humour gone in the blink of an eye. "What does it matter, anyway? We're not going to be found. Not in time. They'll probably find our bodies in six months' time, when they finally get around to clearing the site. So what the fuck does it matter?"

Grimacing, Bobby swung himself around and, with some effort, pushed himself to his feet.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Mike burst out, hurrying over as fast as his injured leg would allow, and was just in time to catch Bobby as his legs buckled beneath him. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? You trying to send yourself into shock again? Idiot…"

Bobby shot Mike a flat look.

"What does it matter? We're probably going to die in here. So what the fuck does it matter?"

Mike deflated visibly, Bobby's point firmly made.

"Okay," he said softly. He held up his hand to reveal his fingers were starting to show signs of discolouration. "I still can't move my fingers, and they're hurting like hell. My whole hand feels like it's on fire."

Leaning over, Bobby picked up the water bottle and started to unscrew the cap.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to clean that wound."

Mike yanked his hand away, frowning deeply.

"We're not wasting water like that."

Bobby looked over at Mike, suddenly feeling painfully tired.

"Dehydrate, not dehydrate, what does it really matter? We both know the reality here, no matter how much we try to kid ourselves. So what does it matter? We're going to run out of water sooner or later. Does it really matter if it's sooner, rather than later?"

Mike's shoulders slumped and, wordlessly, he held his injured hand out to Bobby. The other detective carefully unwrapped the makeshift bandage and poured a small dribble of water over the festering wound. Mike hissed in pain, and looked away as Bobby carefully cleaned the open wound and then tore away a clean strip from his top and rewrapped Mike's hand.

"Thanks," Mike mumbled.

"Now go lie down," Bobby ordered him. "Before you really do collapse."

"Yes, Dad," Mike retorted, and ducked out of the way just in time to avoid being thumped again.

"You really think we're gonna die?" Mike asked as he settled down once more on his cot.

"I know we are," Bobby said matter-of-factly. When Mike shot him an incredulous look, Bobby just smiled. "We're all gonna die some time, Mike. We just don't know when. Personally, I don't plan on dying here. I have plans."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Like actually making it to retiring age."

Mike snorted with laughter. "You? Retire? Pull the other one, Bobby. You'll be in the job until you die. Admit it."

Bobby smiled faintly. "My life doesn't revolve exclusively around my job, Mike. I do have other interests."

"Uh huh. I know. You've subjected me to enough lectures on the many topics of your interest. But I just can't imagine seeing you giving up the job."

"Well, I guess you don't know quite as much about me as you thought."

"Buddy, I never presumed to know _anything_ about you. You are way to complex for a simpleton like me to peg."

Bobby looked over at Mike, one eyebrow raised.

"Simpleton? You're selling yourself short, Mike. You're a smart guy."

"Yeah, well, next to you I'm a simpleton."

"No, you're not. Quit calling yourself that."

Mike regarded Bobby curiously. The other detective sounded genuinely angry at his self-deprecation. Bobby went on quietly.

"Why do you think Deakins burned so many favours to get you into Major Case?" He continued to speak without giving Mike the opportunity to comment. "Because he knows you're a damned fine cop, and he saw how much of an asset you'd be to the squad. He knows you're smart. I know it. Barek and Eames know it. So don't lie there and label yourself a simpleton when that's the last thing that you are."

Mike fell silent, contemplating Bobby's words.

"Thanks," he said softly, finally. Bobby nodded, satisfied that Mike had accepted his words finally.

"Can I ask you something?" Mike wondered, and it was with some effort that Bobby resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"What is it, Mike?"

"How come you never call your partner by her first name? I mean, I get it on the job. But even when we're off the clock, you call her Eames. What's with that?"

Bobby gave a lopsided shrug.

"Habit, I guess. I called her that to start with, mainly because it was what I was used to. Army background, and all… But it was also because I wanted everyone to know that I respected her. She's got seniority in our partnership… She always has had. She'd been with Major Case for two years before I joined. But when we started working together, even those who knew she had seniority deferred to me ahead of her. They just figured that I called the shots because I was the guy. And all the other detectives in the squad called each other by their last names, but Eames was just Alex to them. I called her Eames because I wanted everyone else to know that I saw her on equal ground with the rest of the squad detectives… and I wanted her to know that, too. I suppose I could call her Alex now, but habits are hard to break."

"Don't I know it," Mike said with a chuckle. "Hey, it's cool, Bobby. I was just curious. I totally understand."

Bobby sighed a little and shifted over onto his side.

"I really do believe that they'll find us, Mike."

"In time?"

"Yes. In time. I know Eames. She's so much smarter than most people give her credit for. If anyone can figure out what happened to us, it's her."

"Yeah," Mike conceded, "well, I know that Carolyn is one smart cookie, too. So I guess between the two of them we stand a pretty good chance of getting out of this mess alive. Just promise me one thing?"

"What's that?"

"If I ever, _ever_ mention going to Bronx again, for _any_ reason at all, lock me up in a holding cell until I've come to my senses."

Bobby laughed softly.

"You can count on it."

* * *

_tbc..._


	8. Pool Hall Parley

"A pool hall," Alex commented dryly as she, Carolyn and Deakins came to a halt outside the place where Carolyn had directed them.

"Trust me," Carolyn assured her. "Even if Benny isn't here, one of his lackeys will be. We only need to nail one of them, and I'm sure I can get him to spill his guts."

"We do this by the book," Deakins warned them. "I'm just as worried about Goren and Logan as the two of you, but we'll achieve nothing by going against protocol."

"We don't have time to get a warrant," Alex argued. "It's Sunday afternoon, and any judge on duty would probably laugh in our faces over it."

"We have enough probable cause to go in there with no warrant," Deakins said, "but we'd better be damned sure that whoever we grab does actually know something."

"That's not going to a problem," Carolyn said. "I profiled Benny Matera a couple of years ago. He has seven guys that he keeps close to him as his confidants, and that hasn't changed all this time. If Benny is responsible for Mike and Bobby going missing, then you can be sure that each of the mutts that he keeps around him will know what went down."

Deakins nodded, quietly hoping that he looked more positive than he felt.

"Okay, then. Let's do this."

* * *

There was barely a dozen men in the pool hall when they walked in. Silence fell as several hostile stares were levelled at them.

"Well?" Deakins asked in a low voice. Carolyn hesitated just a fraction of a moment before answering.

"Rear pool table, on the left. Alvin Barone. He's Benny's right-hand man."

Alex smiled coldly.

"Great. Let's go introduce ourselves."

* * *

They were almost to Barone when a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped into their path.

"You cops are in the wrong place. You got one chance to turn around and walk outta here."

"Not until we talk to Mr Barone," Carolyn said firmly. "Let us through right now, or we'll come back with our whole squad and I swear we'll shut this place down."

Soft laughter resounded.

"You've got spunk, Detective. Admirable. Georgie, let them past."

Georgie stepped aside, and Deakins, Alex and Carolyn found themselves face to face with Alvin Barone.

"Mr Barone, we have some questions for you about where you were on Friday night," Deakins stated. Barone regarded him amusedly.

"I believe I'm under no obligation to answer that," Barone said.

"No," Deakins agreed. "But you might consider answering before forcing us into taking an alternative plan of action."

Barone's smile widened fractionally.

"Is that a threat, Captain Deakins?"

Admirably, Deakins didn't so much as blink with surprise at Barone's recognition of him.

"No, Mr Barone. It's a promise. Trust me, you do not want to be arrested by us. Not today."

By then, Barone was grinning broadly.

"You've got guts, Captain. Not many cops would dare to come in here and threaten to arrest me. Especially with only two little ladies to back you up."

Both Alex and Carolyn bristled visibly, though neither said a word. Barone chuckled softly.

"My apologies, Detectives. That was unnecessarily spiteful. Many of my associates know from experience not to underestimate either of you on size alone. I assure you, I wouldn't make that mistake, either." Still smiling, he rose up smoothly out of his seat. "Let's go outside. It's more neutral territory, and we can talk without needing to feel in any way threatened."

* * *

Outside, Barone eyed the three cops with seemingly perpetual amusement.

"What is this about? And should I be calling my lawyer?"

"Well, that depends," Carolyn said coolly. "Where were you on Friday night?"

"I was at St John's Hospital in Queens, with my mother. She's terminally ill, and I'm afraid there's not much time left."

"And you were there for how long?" Alex asked.

"I arrived there shortly before six on Friday evening, and left around one the next morning." He shrugged when they regarded him sceptically. "Feel free to speak to anyone at the hospital. They'll confirm it."

"You didn't have any contact with Benny Matera that night?" Alex asked.

"Not that night, no. I did see him the next morning…" Barone trailed off, realisation suddenly lighting up his blue eyes. "Tell me, would your interest in my whereabouts on Friday night have anything to do with two of your colleagues?"

Deakins exchanged a sharp look with the women, and Barone chuckled softly.

"I should have realised as soon as you walked in."

"Mr Barone," Carolyn said tightly, "if you have something to tell us, I suggest you do so now."

"Otherwise," Alex added, "we'll be more than happy to take you back to One Police Plaza, and we'll continue this there."

Barone held up his hands defensively.

"No need for that. I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but I'm happy to talk to you. I caught up with Benny yesterday morning, as I said, and he had a very interesting tale to tell. He was in O'Reilly's Bar the other night… Friday night, it was. He was there with some of his boys when a couple of cops wandered in. Benny said he recognised both of 'em… That guy, Logan, who punched out that councilman ten years back, and that nutjob, Goren."

Alex stiffened in anger, and Barone smirked openly at her.

"My apologies," he said, sounding anything but sorry. "He would be your partner, wouldn't he?"

"And Logan is _my_ partner," Carolyn snapped. "Get on with it, Barone."

"Fine. Benny said they were there for nearly two and a half hours before they… what did he say…? rolled out. Benny decided to follow. He thought he'd take advantage of their blurred state of mind, and give them a minor warning not to go where they weren't welcome."

"A warning in the form of a beat-down, you mean," Alex said, and Barone shrugged.

"Probably. I won't deny that. Benny has no love for any of you at Major Case… Especially where Detective Goren is concerned. Be thankful he's not here right now, or you'd probably end up on the receiving end yourselves. I don't doubt that he probably planned on treating your boys to a… what did you call it… a beat-down. After that they would have found themselves dumped rather unceremoniously back in Manhattan with a firm warning never to go anywhere near O-Reilly's again."

Deakins stared hard at Barone, looking angrier by the second.

"Except, neither of them made it back to Manhattan," he said fiercely. "Where are my detectives, Mr Barone?"

"Yes, well, this is where the story takes an interesting turn. By the time Benny got outside, someone else had started the party without him."

"What do you mean?" Alex demanded to know.

"What I mean, Detective, is that someone else was already accosting your partners. There were seven or eight men all together, according to Benny, and he didn't recognise any of them. A fight broke out… apparently the newcomers were eager for your colleagues to accompany them somewhere, and the good detectives weren't of a mind to comply."

"What a surprise," Carolyn muttered.

"According to Benny, Goren and Logan put up quite an impressive fight, but it wasn't enough. They were both overpowered fairly decisively, apparently. They were wrestled to the ground, both shot in the leg and cracked over the head to knock them out. Then they both were bundled into a waiting car which took off very quickly. And that, Officers, is all I can tell you."

Deakins regarded Barone in disgust and mounting anger.

"And I suppose that it didn't occur to you to place an anonymous call to the police about it, that there might have been people concerned about their wellbeing?"

Barone laughed softly.

"I could have done that," he agreed. "But then, that would suggest I actually cared about what happened to them. I don't, Captain Deakins, and neither does Benny."

"You're half a step away from being arrested for impeding a police investigation, Mr Barone," Alex said heatedly. Barone raised and eyebrow at her in amusement.

"I've told you everything I know, Detective. That can hardly be considered impeding you, can it?"

"Just try us," Alex snapped. Barone looked across at Deakins, effectively ignoring Alex.

"And this is an official investigation, is it? It would be interesting, then, to see what the media makes of it. I imagine most of the networks would probably scramble for a story about two Major Case detectives who got themselves drunk in a bar in the Bronx on Friday night, and then got themselves assaulted and abducted. But then, I suppose a story like that would reflect badly on the Department, wouldn't it?" He paused, taking in their angry expressions, and laughed out loud. "No, this isn't an official investigation. I'll wager you three are the only cops who know that Goren and Logan are missing. Now, I've told you all I know about it, so if you don't know I'd like to go back inside."

He started past them without waiting for an answer, and was almost to the door when Carolyn called after him.

"You might not care about what's happened to our partners, Mr Barone, but are you also saying you don't care about the fact that someone else seems to be moving in on Masucci territory?"

Barone froze, and then looked back at her slowly. Carolyn went on quickly, anxious to keep his attention.

"Two cops go missing right smack in the middle of Masucci territory. By your own admission, they've been assaulted and shot. You might be smirking about that now, but what do you think is going to happen when Carl Masucci finally hears about it? I know as well as you do that nothing like that is supposed to happen to cops without his explicit approval, especially a couple of high profile cops from a squad like Major Case. How happy do you think your boss is gonna be to hear that someone else has started moving in on his claim, and is on the brink of starting a war with the NYPD? Because I promise you that that is what's going to happen if we don't find our partners alive."

Barone turned back to them, looking decidedly pale all of a sudden.

"What do you want me to tell you, Detective? I wasn't even there on Friday night. All I've told you is hearsay. For all I know, it isn't even true!"

"Is that what you really believe?" Deakins demanded to know. Barone sighed and shook his head.

"No. I don't believe Benny made it up. I think it happened just as he said. But I also believe that he honestly didn't know the men who grabbed Goren and Logan."

"Do you know who might?" Carolyn asked. Barone smiled tightly, but this time there was no amusement in his eyes.

"Street kids, Detective. They see everything. Only trick is finding them, and convincing them to talk to you. But I'll tell you now, you find the right child, and you'll as good as have your partners back."

Carolyn nodded, mildly placated.

"Thankyou, Mr Barone."

The other man merely grunted in response and head back into the pool hall.

* * *

_tbc..._


	9. Fading Hopes

"Shit," Alex muttered sourly after Barone had disappeared back inside. "What now?"

Deakins indicated the SUV.

"We head back to One Police Plaza. I'll call an old contact of mine who's in fairly tight with the street kids in this area. Hopefully, he'll be able to get some information that will help us locate the mutts that have Goren and Logan."

"So we just sit on our asses and wait?" Carolyn asked tensely. "You heard Barone, Captain. Mike and Bobby were beaten up, and they were both shot! God only knows what sort of condition they're in!"

Deakins favoured her with a sympathetic look.

"I know you're frustrated, Barek. So am I. I'd love to be able to go in somewhere, guns blazing, and get Goren and Logan back, but that's a little hard to do when we have no idea where they are. Now, I'll put the word around that we want to talk to Benny Matera, and hopefully we'll be able to get a description of the clowns who grabbed them but now, I think our best bet is the street kid angle."

"It's a hell of a long shot," Alex pointed out bleakly. Deakins nodded in agreement.

"Maybe, but ultimately, what other choices do we have? We're at a dead end, here. Unless, Barek, you think Barone was lying to us? In which case, we'll go back in there right now and arrest the son of a bitch on the spot."

Carolyn's shoulders slumped a little in defeat.

"No. He wasn't lying."

Deakins nodded grimly.

"All right, then. Let's get back to Manhattan."

* * *

Mike awoke to a throbbing pain in his skull, and a burning pain in his leg. He groaned softly and tried to shift into a more comfortable position, only to discover just how much of an impossibility that really was.

Everything was hurting, now. His head, his gut, his chest…

He coughed painfully, and wipes awkwardly at his mouth, using his good hand. His right hand was next to useless now. He'd lost sensation in it maybe an hour or so back, but he'd opted against telling Bobby. The guy had enough to worry about with his own injuries, without stressing out over something neither of them could do anything about. It just wasn't worth it.

He coughed again, and winced at the sharp pain in his chest that accompanied the coughing. He figured it was more than likely a cracked rib that was causing the pain. His chest had been aching dully all along, but only now was the pain starting to flare up to the point where he could no longer ignore it.

"Mike… You okay?"

Mike glanced around at the sound of Bobby's voice, and found his friend was watching him with a deep concern that was tempered by obvious fever. Moving slowly to avoid giving himself motion sickness, Mike sat up slowly.

"Fine," he mumbled, pressing his hand over his eyes in an effort to stem a minor bout of nausea. "Dandy. How are you?"

Bobby didn't answer immediately, continuing to stare at Mike with wordless concern.

"How much water do we have left?" he asked finally.

"Don't know," Mike muttered. "Not much. Why?"

Bobby shifted with some difficulty onto his side and reached down to the floor beside his cot and grabbed his water bottle. He then rolled it across the floor to Mike.

"Finish it."

Mike picked up the bottle from where it had rolled to a stop at his feet, and stared at it for a long moment before answering.

"No. No way. I'm okay, Bobby. I've still got a little water here in my bottle. You… You keep this."

Grimacing at the pain that flared through his leg, gut and chest, Mike pushed himself to his feet and started across the floor to return the water bottle to his friend. He only made it halfway before his knees buckled beneath him and he collapsed to the concrete floor with a painful thud.

"Mike!" Bobby exclaimed hoarsely and, with a burst of panic-fuelled strength, pulled himself off his cot and across the floor to where Mike lay.

"I'm okay," Mike mumbled in between painful coughs. "I'm good… Just… a little dizzy. That's all. Gimme a minute…"

"Yeah," Bobby muttered. "Blood loss and dehydration can throw you right off balance."

Mike looked up at him, baffled.

"Blood loss? What are you talking about?"

Bobby gently rubbed his thumb over the corner of Mike's mouth, and then held up his hand so that Mike could see the blood. A chill spread through his body at the sight of it.

"What the fuck is that from?"

"Internal bleeding, Mike," Bobby told him. "You've probably got a broken rib from that fight on Friday night. All the moving about that you've done has probably caused it to puncture one of your lungs."

Mike felt sick, and that was rapidly followed by a strange sensation of calm acceptance.

"Fuck," he mumbled. "So what you're trying to tell me is that I'm dying."

Right at that moment, Bobby looked as sick as Mike imagined he felt.

"If we don't get out of here soon… yeah."

"How soon?" Mike asked.

"No way of knowing," Bobby admitted. "If it's just a small rupture, and if it's only just happened, it could take hours. On the other hand, if you've been bleeding into your lung for a while now…"

"I could croak any minute," Mike finished off bluntly when Bobby hesitated.

"Yeah," Bobby whispered. Mike groaned softly.

"So, it's a toss-up. I'm either gonna get blown up, or I'm gonna drown in my own blood. Fuck. That's a pretty shit choice, Bobby."

Grunting in pain, Bobby reached over and grabbed both the water bottle and the two blankets from his cot.

"What are you doing?" Mike mumbled. "Go lie back on the bed. At least it's more comfortable than the damn floor."

"Can you get up?" Bobby asked flatly. "Do you have any strength left to move?"

In answer, Mike tried to lift himself up off the floor, but to no avail. He groaned softly, shutting his eyes in a vain effort to shut everything else out.

"Didn't think so," Bobby muttered. "Here…"

Mike opened one eye to find Bobby unscrewing the cap of his water bottle.

"What are you doing?"

"I figure there's maybe five or six mouthfuls left. We'll share it."

Mike stared at Bobby for a long moment before conceding with a sigh.

"Okay, but you first. I don't think you wanna be drinking water mixed with my blood."

Smiling faintly, Bobby took three modest mouthfuls of water, savouring the taste and feel of the precious liquid in his dry mouth before holding the bottle for Mike to finish it off. When the bottle was finally empty, Mike stretched across the floor and managed to snag the other bottle. There was even less in it, just enough for one good mouthful each.

"Here. Might as well go the whole nine yards."

Bobby took the bottle without protest and stared at it for a long moment before speaking softly.

"To friendship," he said simply, and swallowed.

Mike looked thoughtful for a moment.

"To the beautiful women in our lives. May they find the flat-nosed son of a bitch who killed us, and kick his ass all the way to death row."

"Amen to that," Bobby murmured tiredly as he helped Mike to finish the water.

"So that's it," Mike said as Bobby discarded the empty water bottle, and dragged the blankets over the two of them. "All done… Now we just wait for the big bang."

"Now we wait," Bobby agreed. Mike looked around at the other detective thoughtfully.

"Are you scared? To die, I mean."

"Not so much of dying," Bobby admitted. "The thought of how much it'll hurt scares me, though."

"Just one rush of pain, and then lights out," Mike mused. "You think the explosion will get us? Or are we gonna end up being crushed to death?"

"I think the explosion will probably knock us both out," Bobby guessed. "At least, I hope it does. It won't kill us outright, but with any luck we at least won't be awake for what'll come after."

"Any chance those bars might give us some protection?" Mike wondered.

Bobby looked up above their heads at the bars of their prison. He could hear the hope in Mike's voice and he hated himself for having to smother that, but he just couldn't see the point in raising false hopes.

"If this was only a couple of storeys, then maybe… But the fact that they have explosives set says that this is probably a high rise. When it all comes down, those bars are going to fold like paper under the weight."

Mike sighed again.

"It was just a thought."

"Eames and Barek could still find us in time," Bobby offered, but Mike shook his head.

"You don't believe that now anymore than I do. Look, it's okay, Bobby. We're going to die. I accept that. There's no reason to keep kidding ourselves."

"Miracles can happen."

Mike snorted derisively.

"Yeah, well, not in this reality. Do you think Deakins will try to get new partners for the girls? Or will he just partner them up with each other?"

"I don't know, Mike."

Mike looked at Bobby, not so sick that he missed the tension in his voice.

"What are you thinking about?"

"My mom."

"Oh… Shit. Look, Bobby, Deakins will make sure she's looked after properly. You know that, right?"

"I know. But she's still not going to understand. When… When Dad finally left for good, it took years for her to come to grips with it… and he was still around. She's not going to be able to comprehend what happened to me."

"And you're worried it'll push her over the edge."

"Yes."

Mike grimaced. There was precious little he could say in response to that.

"Deakins will take care of her," he said softly, finally. "And I bet Alex will see to it as well. You don't have to be scared for her."

Bobby shifted a little on the hard, cold floor.

"You'd better try to take it easy, Mike. Don't talk."

"Yeah," Mike muttered ruefully. "I wouldn't wanna miss the grand finale, would I? I hear it's gonna be explosive."

Bobby laughed softly, unable to help himself, and Mike smiled, quietly pleased to have been able to get Bobby to laugh.

"Thanks, Mike."

Confusion flickered across Mike's face.

"For what?"

"For just being you. If this had to happen, I'm glad I was with you."

"Oh, now don't go getting all fuzzy and sentimental on me."

"I'm not," Bobby assured him. "I just wanted to say thankyou. And… you were right."

"I was? About what?"

"About it being together making this more bearable. The only person I'd ever really talked to about anything before was Eames. So… thankyou."

"That wasn't easy to say, was it?" Mike asked, and he was sure he caught a glimpse of red in Bobby's otherwise pale face.

"No, it wasn't."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I feel the same. Do you think that…?"

"What?" Bobby asked curiously.

"Well… I was just wondering… do you think we would have eventually gotten to be friends if this hadn't happened? I mean, I know we work pretty well together, but we weren't ever really friends. We are now… aren't we?"

"Yeah," Bobby agreed softly, acutely aware of the sudden threat of tears in his eyes. "We are."

A small, tired smile passed fleetingly over Mike's bloodied lips as his eyes flickered shut.

"That's good to know."

* * *

_tbc..._


	10. Running Out Of Time

_Sunday evening  
__5.18pm_

"Here," Deakins told Alex and Carolyn on the front steps of One Police Plaza, handing them a twenty dollar bill. "Go and get yourselves a decent cup of coffee, and bring one back for me. I'll head upstairs and start making phone calls."

The women exchanged glances, and then accepted the suggestion in silence, taking the offered money and heading off towards a nearby café. Deakins watched them go before sighing softly to himself and heading inside.

* * *

It was deathly quiet in the squad room. Any detectives who may have been working a Sunday shift had gone, and now Deakins found himself to be completely alone as he entered the Major Case bullpen.

He froze as the sound of wrappers being ripped open reached his ears from the break room. There really shouldn't have been anyone on the eleventh floor at all, so who…?

Treading as quietly as he could, Deakins walked over to the break room, and found himself looking in at an astonishing sight.

Sitting on the floor in the middle of the break room was a child of no more than nine or ten years, thin to the point of near starvation and filthy to boot. He had a packet of biscuits open on the floor in front of him and was stuffing them into his face as fast as he could.

Bemused by the sight, Deakins leaned in the doorway, watching the child for nearly a minute before coughing loudly.

The boy froze, looking up at Deakins with eyes that were as wide as saucers. Deakins couldn't help but smile. He'd be angry about the security breach later, but after the day's activities and worries, the sight before him was just too precious not to elicit amusement.

"You know," he suggested lightly, "milk would help that go down a lot smoother."

The child moved so fast that Deakins very nearly missed him, launching himself to his feet and making a break for the door. However, years of practise chasing after his own energetic daughters had give him reflexes that could only be attributed to parenthood, and he caught the boy around the waist with one arm before he could make a run for it.

"Easy," Deakins murmured as the child struggled. "No one's going to hurt you. You're not in trouble. Just relax, and I'll get you some milk and muffins to go with those biscuits."

Slowly, the child relaxed and eventually ceased his struggles altogether.

"Now, if I let you go, do you promise not to bolt?" Deakins asked, and the child nodded timidly. Deakins withdrew his arm, and motioned to the small table. "Sit down there, and I'll get you those muffins and milk."

"You got soda, mister?" the boy asked. "Milk makes me wanna puke."

It was all Deakins could do not to laugh aloud.

"Diet Coke okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Pulling a can of diet coke out of the fridge, along with a plate of blueberry muffins that had been left over from afternoon tea on Friday, Deakins set them on the table in front of the child before sitting down himself.

"Go ahead," he urged the boy. "Dig in. You look like you haven't eaten for a week."

"A couple of days," the boy answered with a shrug as he popped the can open and grabbed a muffin. "It's no big deal. You take what you can get, when you can get it."

"So do you have a name?" Deakins asked.

"Jeremy," the boy answered around a mouthful of muffin.

"My name's Jim," Deakins introduced himself. "Jeremy, do you mind me asking how you got in here?"

Jeremy paused, looking sheepish.

"I followed a big fat guy in. He was so busy on his phone that he never noticed when I hid behind him. The security guards didn't notice me, and I got through the metal detector when they were scanning the fat guy."

"And what are you doing here? Do you even know where you are?"

"This is that One Police Plaza place," Jeremy answered confidently. "Where all the cops work."

Deakins nodded. "Okay. Now for the big one. _Why_ are you here?"

At that, Jeremy paused for a long moment before setting the half-eaten muffin down on the tabletop and looking up at Deakins with big eyes that were full of fear.

"Before I tell you, you gotta promise to help me. 'Cause if I go back out there after this, they'll kill me. I know they'll kill me. Even if they don't know yet, they will. They always find out, and then they'll kill me…"

"Slow down," Deakins murmured. "Who'll kill you?"

"Big Joey and his buddies."

"Other kids?" Deakins wondered, but Jeremy shook his head.

"No, Big Joey's a big guy, really big. And he's mean. He likes hurting people… especially kids, and cops."

Deakins felt a sudden chill settle in his gut.

"Cops…?"

"Yeah. I don't know his last name. He moved in on our territory a few months ago and took over. Now everyone in our area's scared to do anything without his say-so. It's really bad, but up till now I didn't wanna say nothing. 'Cause I figured nothing Big Joey did to anyone was my problem, you know? 'Cause he wasn't hurting anyone I knew."

"So what changed your mind?"

Jeremy drew in a long breath.

"I saw something. Something bad… and it happened to someone I know… someone who helped me once, when I was just a kid."

Deakins held back from pointing out to Jeremy that he was still just a kid.

"Tell me what you saw."

The wild look in Jeremy's eyes was suddenly back.

"You gotta promise me! You gotta promise you'll help me! I got an aunt, she lives in Connecticut and she said she'd take me in, but I ain't never had no way of getting there."

"Tell me what you saw, Jeremy," Deakins promised him, "and I'll drive you to your aunt's home in Connecticut myself, if I have to."

Jeremy let his breath out in a rush, placated.

"I was wandering around on Friday night, near the south-side rail tracks. There's a good bar near there, and sometimes I can beg money off guys that come out drunk. Anyways, these two guys came out… I think it was around midnight. I'm not real sure. I was gonna go and ask 'em for money but then I recognised one of 'em."

"Who did you recognise?" Deakins asked.

"The cop… Mike, his name is. He helped me out once, stopped some bigger guys from beating the crap outta me. He got me into a home for kids, so I'd have a chance of being fostered. That didn't work out, but it wasn't Mike's fault. He's a good guy… Anyway, I figured I didn't wanna take any money from him… and I didn't want him to know I was back on the streets again. So I was just gonna go, but then I see Big Joe and his guys coming towards them. I wanted to warn Mike, but I was too scared. Big Joe would've hurt me… maybe killed me. So I was chicken, and I didn't say anything."

"It's okay, Jeremy," Deakins reassured him as the child rubbed furiously at his eyes. "Take your time."

Jeremy looked up sharply.

"That's just it. There ain't no time. Big Joe and his guys, they beat up bad on Mike and his friend. I mean real bad, and then they shot them, too. Big Joe shot them both in the leg. They knocked them out and put them into a car and drove off… and I followed 'em."

Deakins sat forward.

"You know where they are? Is that what you're saying?"

"Yeah. I saw where Big Joe put them in this building… an empty building. There's this big cage in the basement. I've seen it. Big Joe had 'em put in there, and just left 'em. They've been there since Friday night."

"And you can show us where?" Deakins asked.

"I can tell you where, but you gotta hurry. It's the old Collins Street apartment block."

"The Collins Street…" Deakins trailed off, a look of horror dawning on his face. "But that building is scheduled to be demolished!"

Jeremy nodded. "Yeah, I know. At six o'clock tonight."

* * *

Alex and Carolyn were just emerging from the lift, coffee in hand, when Deakins almost literally came running out of the break room.

"Captain…?" Carolyn asked in confusion.

"Forget the coffee," he bellowed at them. "Let's go!"

Abandoning the coffee on the floor, they followed him back into the lift.

"Captain, what's going on?" Alex asked tensely.

He regarded them grimly.

"I know where they are. The catch is we have to hurry. They're trapped in a building that's scheduled to be demolished, _tonight_."

"Oh god, no," Alex whispered. The lift slid to a halt at the car park level, and they left the lift at a run to get to the SUV.

"Head for the Collins Street Apartment block, in the Bronx," Deakins instructed Alex.

"Isn't that the building that there was a big fight over?" Carolyn asked, grabbing at the dashboard as Alex swerved the SUV into the heavy Sunday evening traffic without hesitation. "Half the locals wanted it torn down, and the other half wanted it heritage-listed?"

"That's the one," Deakins confirmed. "Put the lights and sirens on, and floor it, Alex. The building is supposed to be imploded, and the city's scheduled detonation for six o'clock. We have twenty-five minutes to get from here back to the Bronx, and stop the detonation."

Alex slammed her foot down on the gas pedal.

* * *

_tbc..._


	11. Countdown

_A/N: Yes, I'm a bitch. I know this. But please, at least wait until I post the next chapter before hunting me down...?_

_

* * *

_

_5.48pm_

The drive across the city was an anxious one. They rode for the most part in silence, with that silence only broken by Deakins as he frantically tried to reach someone who could call off the demolition.

"Why the hell would they schedule a demolition for Sunday evening?" Carolyn wondered, clinging for dear life to the door and the dashboard as Alex took a turn way too fast. "Who would want to work that, anyway?"

"Anyone who wants to rake in the overtime," Alex said through gritted teeth.

"There is still a large percentage of people who don't want that building demolished," Deakins said, even as he dialled yet another number. "By scheduling demolition for a Sunday evening, they'll probably have protesters there, but the risk of an injunction stopping it now is a lot slimmer than if they did it on a weekday. You know what legal process is like on a Sunday afternoon."

"We're never going to get there in time," Carolyn said, her eyes flickering to her watch.

"The hell we won't," Alex snarled as she shifted the SUV into a higher gear and pushed forward even harder. "I know a few shortcuts. Just hang on."

* * *

_5.53pm_

Mike stirred and groaned as he came slowly back to awareness, and to the discomforting sensation of concrete beneath his body.

"Ah, crap…" he muttered, but made no effort to try and sit up. He was fairly certain that he didn't have the strength left to move, anyway.

The taste of blood in his mouth was strong now. With every minute that passed, his lungs filled with more blood, and pushed that blood into his windpipe, steadily cutting down on the amount of oxygen being fed through his body. It wouldn't be long before the blood started to choke him, cutting off his air supply entirely and causing him to suffocate and drown at the same time.

He looked around at Bobby, but the big detective was asleep… or unconscious, Mike didn't know which. From the looks of it, Mike guessed that Bobby had finally given in to the shock that had been threatening to overcome him for the last twenty-four hours, and if that was the case, then it was more likely that he had slipped into a coma.

Mike sighed inwardly and looked away again. Asleep or unconscious, what did it matter? All it meant in the end was that Bobby would not be awake when the explosives detonated, whenever that happened to be. He wouldn't be awake to suffer that last flash of pain… that last moment of terrifying awareness as their world literally collapsed and caved in around them.

For Bobby, the pain was already over.

He coughed again, a wracking cough that sent shards of pain through his chest, and felt blood bubble up in his throat and overflow from his mouth, running over his chin and down his neck. No, he thought dimly as he found himself starting to struggle for each and every breath that he took. It wouldn't be long now.

A loud beeping sound caught his attention, and he looked around dazedly, a small and irrational part of his mind telling him that maybe help was coming after all. But he heard no voices, or any other sounds. It was just the same penetrating silence as before, a silence that would have truly driven him mad without Bobby's company.

He was about to dismiss the sound as a figment of his imagination when, with a brief buzz, the lights suddenly cut out.

Mike lay in the darkness, his heart pounding. Even in his exhausted mind, the cutting of power to the building meant only one thing. Ignoring the pain and nausea, Mike used what little strength he had left to push himself up onto his elbows, and look around in the darkness. After a long moment, he found what he was searching for.

Over by the support pillar, the explosives that Bobby had originally spotted now displayed a flashing red light that lit up the darkness like some kind of evil eye. Mike lay back down with a thud, feeling sick with anticipation and fear. The explosives had just been armed, and when that light switched to green… _lights out_.

His breath left him in a rush, but he barely heard the ugly gurgling sound that the rising blood in his throat made.

No, it wouldn't be long now.

* * *

_5.55pm_

They were the equivalent of five city blocks away from the site, with approximately five minutes to detonation, when Alex turned a corner and found herself trapped behind a stalled line of traffic.

"Shit!" Alex exploded, slamming her hands against the steering wheel in frustration.

"Traffic's been stopped for the demolition," Deakins said tensely, leaning forward in his seat and peering at the seemingly endless line of traffic that stretched out before them. "There's no way we'll get through here… Barek, what are you doing?"

Carolyn flashed Deakins a grim smile as she climbed out of the SUV and quickly pulled off her heavy coat.

"I topped out my fitness class at the Academy, sir. If I can run a mile in around five minutes, then I can make four or five city blocks in the same amount of time."

She took off on foot without waiting for Deakins to give any sort of approval. A moment later, Alex did the same, grabbing the keys of the SUV and taking off after Carolyn.

It took only a split second after that for Deakins to make up his mind and follow suit, abandoning the SUV in the stalled traffic.

* * *

_5.57pm_

Big Joey Baker, wannabe-Mob boss and sociopath, stood in the midst of the crowd of protesters who had gathered to watch the demolition. Unlike the protesters, though, he eagerly anticipated the sight of the building imploding. His only regret was that he couldn't watch the faces of the two cops when they died.

It was a sacrifice he was willing to make, though. Just knowing that they were in there, trapped and helpless to save their own sorry asses, was enough to nearly tip him over the edge of excitement.

In all honesty, he hadn't been entirely sure if he could pull it off. Leaving the cops in the cage for two full days had been risky. All it would have taken was for some nosey bastard kid to go snooping, and word would have gone around like wildfire. He was fairly sure that he'd done a good job of making it known the building was off-limits to everyone in his territory, though.

And now, here it was, nearly six o'clock on Sunday evening, and it was almost time for the lights to go out for the cops, permanently.

Big Joe grinned as he checked his watch. Almost show time.

* * *

_5.58pm_

Carolyn ran faster than she ever had before in her entire life. Later, she would put it down to luck and divine intervention – not necessarily in that order – that she wasn't hit by a car or anything else as she ran without any hesitation through each intersection.

She dodged her way past some people, and shoved her way unceremoniously past others, determined not to allow herself to be slowed down in any way.

She reached the end of the final block, only to be brought up short by the sight before her. Crowding the streets and the pathways was a veritable sea of people, and there appeared to be no conceivable way through.

There was movement at her shoulder, and she glanced around as first Alex and then Deakins came to a halt on either side of her.

"Oh no…" Alex whispered, distraught. "How are we going to get through that?"

Squaring his jaw, Deakins pulled out his shield with one hand and his gun with the other.

"Like this."

He strode forward, shield and gun held high, and bellowing at the top of his voice.

"NYPD! Out of the way! _Move_!"

Exchanging grim looks, Alex and Carolyn withdrew their shields and followed their captain into the crowd.

* * *

_5.59pm_

Tony Shore had been in the demolition business for a long time – forty-three years, to be precise – and never in his time had he witnessed such a frenzy over any one building. He was used to crowds. A demolition requiring precision implosions always attracted an audience, but never one as negative as this was. Right then, he wanted nothing more than to just hit the first trigger, start the implosion sequence and get it over and done with.

He glanced around with growing irritation at the crowd, which seemed to be divided in very distinct 'for' and 'against' sectors. As soon as this was over, he wanted to get the hell out as fast as possible, to avoid being lynched by the 'against' mob.

"Aw, fuck, what now…?"

Shore looked around, puzzled, at the angry muttering from his assistant, Russ Webb.

"What is it, Russ?"

"Check it out, over there. Those are cops, I'll bet a week's pay on it. Probably come to stop the demolition."

Shore looked and, sure enough, making their way through the crowd with badges held high, were three cops. The man leading the way appeared to be trying to get his attention, shaking his head and signalling a cutting motion across his throat, an obvious indication to cease all activity.

"What do you reckon?" Webb asked. "Another fucking injunction?"

"Probably. Shit, I've had enough of this. This'll be the fourth aborted job."

Webb's expression hardened noticeably. "No, it won't."

And, as Shore watched, Webb reached across and tapped the first trigger, starting the deadly sequence of implosions.

* * *

_tbc..._


	12. Finding Them

Mike felt rather than heard the first explosion. The floor beneath him vibrated just slightly at first, but then much more violently. Above him the ceiling began to crumble ominously, sending a thick layer of dust down over him and Bobby.

He then heard the metal legs of the cots that had been their beds for the last two days start to vibrate against the cement floor.

The second explosion felt and sounded much closer, and was accompanied by a distinct, threatening rumbling sound that shook everything around him. Mike looked up and, as he watched, the ceiling began to crack and break apart.

A third explosion rocked the ground beneath them, sending jarring waves of pain through Mike's already battered body. He knew in his gut that the next explosives to be detonated would be those only metres from him and Bobby. And when that happened…

Above their heads, the crack in the ceiling was growing at lightning speed, circling around and creating a large chunk of concrete that was ready to break away at the slightest tremor.

A primal survival instinct kicked into gear deep within Mike's gut and, with a strength that he didn't realised he'd had, he rolled over onto his side and pulled Bobby's limp body in close to him, attempting to form a protective shield. Stretching out with his good hand, he snagged the metal frame of the nearest cot and pulled it across to cover their prone bodies.

He doubted the flimsy metal frame of the cot would afford them any real protection, but he'd be damned if he was going to just lay there and quit. If nothing else, he was going to die knowing that he'd at least tried to save his friend's life.

There was another violent tremor through the building, followed by a deafening crack. A violent pressure unlike anything Mike had ever experienced slammed down on top of them, and then there was nothing.

* * *

"_Stop!_" Deakins yelled, forcing his way through the rest of the crowd and running over to Shore and Webb. A couple of security officers stepped in to block his path, only to back off again just as quickly at the sight of his badge and his furious expression. "Damn it, stop the demolition!"

Webb stood up, looking smug.

"Sorry, buddy. If you've got an injunction, you're too late. We've already started the process."

As if to emphasise his words, there was a muffled roar and the ground trembled as the first explosives detonated.

"No!" Alex cried out as she and Carolyn came to a halt by Deakins. He glanced at her, and then back at Webb, his expression turning downright dangerous.

"Stop the demolition right now, or I swear to God, I'll do everything in my power to make sure you're held responsible for the deaths of the men who we believe are trapped inside that building."

Shore looked up in horror.

"_What_? No, that's not possible! We checked that place thoroughly late Friday afternoon…"

"They were locked in a cage in the basement late Friday night," Deakins said sharply. All eyes turned briefly to the building as a second explosion roared, shaking the ground and sending a cloud of dust high into the air. Deakins went on quickly, urgently. "Now, for God's sake, stop the demolition!"

"We can't!" Webb cried out. "Once the sequence is started, we can't stop it!"

Deakins looked past Webb to Shore, who nodded, looking thoroughly sick.

"He's right. We can't stop the sequence of detonations once we've started. That'll only happen if there's a malfunction, and one of the explosive packs doesn't detonate. I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do. If there are people in there, only a miracle's going to save them now."

A third explosion rocked the building and the surrounding area, and this time the entire south-side wall began to collapse, signalling the start of the building's demise.

"Bobby…" Alex whispered, tears flooding her eyes. Carolyn threw her arms around her colleague and friend in a fierce hug, tears of grief in her own eyes at the realisation that she was not going to see her own partner again alive.

Nearly a minute passed while the building trembled on the brink of collapse… but nothing happened.

"What the fuck…?" Shore muttered. A moment later, he looked up at Deakins in amazement.

"You may have just got your miracle. The fourth pack has malfunctioned. It never detonated."

Carolyn looked from Shore to Deakins, sudden fire in her eyes.

"We're going in there."

"The hell you are, lady," Shore growled as he straightened up and began signalling to his men. "That building is ready to come down, not to mention there are un-detonated explosives that could go off at any time. No one is going in there except me and my guys."

"You don't understand," Alex said hoarsely. "They're our partners!"

"You're wrong," Shore told her, his voice taking on a more gentle, understanding tone. "I do understand, and that's all the more reason why I can't let you go in there. Any chance they might have is gonna be slim at best. You ladies go in there… Your intentions might be good, but you'll only create more problems than you solve."

He paused, looking from Alex and Carolyn to Deakins.

"I promise you, if they're in there, we'll get them out." Turning away from them, he spoke quickly and urgently to the half dozen or so men who had gathered. "Listen up, here's the situation. There could be…" He looked back at Deakins. "Two guys…?" Deakins nodded, and Shore went on quickly. "There could be two guys trapped in the basement. We're going in after them. One of you, grab the bolt cutters, the heavy duty ones. We may need to cut through metal. And someone grab a couple of the emergency backboards, so we've got something to carry them out on."

He paused again, looking back at Deakins, Alex and Carolyn.

"What are their names? Folks are more likely to respond to their names being called than if we go in there yelling 'hey you'."

"Bobby and Mike," Alex said softly. "Please, just find them."

Shore nodded reassuringly at her.

"We'll do what we can. All right, let's move."

* * *

Shore led the way into the building, picking his way through the unstable structure with extreme care. He knew where the cop had meant as soon as he mentioned a cage. He'd seen that cage in the basement when he planted pack number four. At the time, he'd wondered who would have any use for something like that. Now, he guessed he knew.

"You really think anyone's down here?" one of his men asked in a low voice as they headed for the stairwell that led down into the basement.

"I don't know," Shore admitted. "I hope to God not, but we can't take any chances. Just be careful. This is where pack number four was planted. That's the one that's malfunctioned. We don't want it going off while we're down here. Andy, you got the heavy duty bolt cutters?"

"Yeah, I got them."

"Okay." Shore paused at the stairs, and looked back at his men. "It's going to be pretty damn tenuous down there, so _be careful_. I don't want any of _us_ to have to be carried out of here."

There was a murmur of assent, and they then made their way down into the dark basement.

* * *

Waiting in the crowd, Big Joe watched the unfolding scene with a fierce scowl, oblivious to the excited murmur that swept through the people as they tried to work out what was happening. He'd seen the cops coming, and for a moment had been afraid that his plans would fall through at the eleventh hour. But then the explosions had begun, and the building had started to crumble.

Except, now there was a problem, and a team of men had now gone into the building with what looked suspiciously like rescue gear.

Big Joe grimaced as the male cop turned and scanned the crowd, a frown on his face. He knew better than to simply turn and run, but the first opportunity he had, he was out of there. His whole beautiful plan had just gone belly-up, and now he needed to take measures to ensure that he didn't go down with this particular sinking ship.

* * *

"Shit, how the fuck are we going to find anything down here?" one of Shore's men grumbled as they surveyed the damage before them. Shore didn't answer immediately. He could barely make out anything at all through the grime and dust and ruin.

"Okay, looks like part of the ceiling's come down," he said finally. "Be careful. Spread out and start looking. Check everywhere. Their names are Mike and Bobby, okay? But be aware that they might not be responsive."

"Yeah," someone muttered. "'Cause they've probably been flattened by now. This is stupid, Boss, risking our own necks for a couple of morons who shouldn't have been here to begin with!"

Shore wheeled around to face them.

"I don't give a fuck about that, Chris. What I do give a fuck about is that there could be a couple of guys down here somewhere, who might still be alive. And while there's a possibility of that, we've got a responsibility to do everything we can to get them out. Now, start looking!"

The men spread out, none of them daring to say another word. Shore watched them for a moment before making his way over to the other side of the basement to start searching.

Through the rubble and dust, he was able to make out the cage, though it had been half-crushed by the segment of ceiling that had broken away and fallen. He could see the slab of concrete that had fallen, causing the top of the cage to buckle under its weight, but it hadn't crushed the cage completely. Though he couldn't see anything from where he stood, he suspected there was a possibility that something… or someone, could have been trapped beneath the slab without being crushed to death.

Frowning, Shore picked his way around to get a look at the under-side of the slab. At first he could see nothing, even with his powerful flashlight. It just appeared to be a mangled ruin of concrete and metal. But then, as he was starting to turn away, he caught a glimpse of something else, something that was not metal and was not concrete.

Moving in closer and getting down on his hands and knees, Shore peered under the slab, and a moment later sucked in a sharp breath of surprise.

"Over here!" he called out. "I've found them! Damn… I think they might still be alive!"

* * *

_tbc..._


	13. Rescued

"I wish I knew what was going on in there," Alex said miserably. Webb glanced up at her from where he sat with a hand-held two-way radio.

"Tony will let us know the moment he finds anything. Till then, we just gotta sit tight."

Deakins focused a hard look on Webb.

"You saw us coming, but you still triggered the detonation sequence."

Webb reddened visibly.

"We thought you were just bringing another injunction. You've gotta understand, this has already been delayed three times. It was costing us a shit load of money. We… I just didn't want it to be delayed again. If we'd know there was someone inside…"

"Why the hell didn't you do one last check?" Carolyn demanded to know. "Anyone could have gotten in there between Friday afternoon, and now. There could have been kids in there, for God's sake!"

"We thought the place was locked up tight!" Webb argued. He paused, taking in the angry looks from the captain and his detectives. "I know," he said finally, miserably. "We fucked up, big time."

"Yes," Deakins agreed tightly. "You did."

Any further arguments were abruptly halted, though, when a sharp crackling sound erupted from Webb's radio. Eyeing Deakins nervously, Webb spoke into it quickly.

"Russ, here."

"_Russ, it's Tony. Call 911 and get them to send paramedics and a couple of ambulances. We found them and it looks like they're still alive. Then, grab Paul and Evan, and get your asses down here fast. We need the extra manpower._"

Webb answered in the affirmative, and then looked around to see Deakins had his own radio out.

"Find the men you need," Deakins told him. "I'll call for the ambulances."

Webb nodded and hurried off to do so, Deakins' words ringing in his ears as he went.

"This is Captain James Deakins, Major Case Squad. We need two ambulances at the Collins Street Apartment Block in the Bronx. Officers down. I repeat, _officers down_…"

Webb broke into a run.

* * *

"Easy, boss," one of the men said as Shore tried to edge closer to the trapped men, anxious to see whether they were, indeed, still alive.

"I'm fine," Shore growled. "They're not. We've got to get them out."

He was close enough to make out the face of one man, and the top of the head of the other. They were pinned beneath what looked to Shore like the metal frame of a bed, and between that and the chunk of concrete were the buckled bars of the cage. It was a flimsy barrier, but so far it seemed to be holding, preventing the men from being crushed completely.

"Mike," Shore said as loudly as he dared. "Bobby. Can either of you hear me? C'mon guys, show me a sign of life here."

There was no conscious response, but as he listened he could hear the sound of shallow, rasping breaths from at least one of the men.

"One of them is breathing, at least," he muttered as he pushed back and got to his feet again. "Okay, guys, listen carefully. We don't have time to do this by the book. I want to get them out as fast as possible. Russ, are you down here?"

"Over here, Tony," Webb said. He made his way around to stand beside Shore. "I don't mean to put anymore pressure on us, but I overheard that cop out there when he called for the ambulances. These two guys are both cops."

Shore grimaced.

"Well… that's not an issue right now. Okay, here's what we're going to do. All of you move around and get as good a grip on this slab of concrete as you can. When I give the word, I want you boys to lift it up as much as you can. Russ and I are going to pull them out."

"What if they have spinal injuries?" someone asked. "That could do permanent damage, pulling them out like that."

"We don't have time to get the right equipment to do this properly," Shore insisted. As if to corroborate his words, a minor tremor swept through the building, showering the men with dust.

"This place could go any time," Webb agreed. "We've gotta do this right now."

Shore crouched down and edged forward until he was within arm's reach of the two men. Webb did the same, exchanging grim looks with his friend and boss.

"Everyone ready?" Shore asked, and there was a murmur of assent through the group. "Okay, on the count of three. Three, two, one, lift!"

Strained grunts filled the air as the men put their strength into lifting the slab of concrete. For several seconds, nothing happened. Then, abruptly, the slab moved and finally lifted up.

"Now!" Shore gasped. He grabbed Mike's wrists and pulled hard. There was a brief moment of resistance, and then Mike's body slid forward, coming free from where he'd been pinned to the floor.

Webb grabbed at Bobby's wrists at the same time, grunting as he strained to pull Bobby free. Nothing happened.

"He's stuck, I can't pull him out," Webb gasped. With Mike free, Shore scrambled back and grabbed one of Bobby's wrists, directing Webb to hold the other.

"Now, pull!" Shore ordered, and the two of them pulled fiercely.

"Hurry," someone begged through clenched teeth. "We can't hold this thing forever."

Shore grunted in reply as he set his feet and pulled back as hard as he could. A moment later, there was a dull cracking sound from somewhere beneath the slab, and Bobby's body finally slid free. It came not a moment too soon as a few of the men finally lost their grip on the heavy slab and it fell with a resounding crunch.

"Jesus, I think we broke his arm," Webb moaned. Shore brushed the sweat from his eyes.

"Better alive with a broken arm than a dead crushed body. Okay, let's get them the hell outta here."

* * *

Alex watched out of the corner of her eye as first one ambulance and then another pulled up and two teams of paramedics climbed out. Deakins went to speak to them, and fill them in on what they knew about the situation, leaving her and Carolyn together to watch and wait.

"I hate this," she said finally, softly. "I've got half a mind to go in there."

Carolyn glanced sideways at her.

"I know. But we have to wait, Alex. There's nothing more we can do. Shore was right. We'd only cause more difficulties than it was worth. Try and be patient."

"I am just so damn scared," Alex whispered as she struggled to contain a fresh flood of tears. "All the times that I've nearly lost him, and it's never felt as real as this."

"I know," Carolyn murmured, hugging Alex to her warmly. "I'm scared too, Alex."

"God, if he lives, I'm going to kill him!"

Carolyn laughed softly.

"I know. I just want Mike to be okay, so I can smack him on the head for scaring us so bad. The dumb ox…"

Shuddering a little, Alex took a moment to scan the crowd.

"You think he's here watching?"

"Who? The guy who put them in there, you mean?"

"Yes. Do you think he's here somewhere, watching?"

"It wouldn't surprise me. Whoever it was, they were sadistic enough to put Bobby and Mike down there, knowing what would eventually happen. They'd want to see the end result. I'll bet they're royally pissed off right about now."

Alex sighed softly.

"I wish we had a description. I'd love to take out my frustration on someone right about now."

Carolyn rubbed her back comfortingly.

"Easy, Attila. Save it for later… like when Bobby is fit again, and can take a good pounding from you."

"One thing's for sure," Alex said bitterly.

"What's that?"

"I'm never letting him out of my sight again."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Carolyn murmured. "However, if either one of them ever mentions going to a bar outside a one mile radius from One Police Plaza, I'll happily shoot both ofthem in the leg to stop them going."

Alex smiled faintly, but before she had a chance to respond, she spotted movement in the entrance to the apartment block.

"Something's happening," she said, pulling away from Carolyn and standing up. Carolyn looked as well, and sure enough men were emerging from the entrance way, and between them they were carefully carrying on two emergency backboards…

"They've got them," Alex exclaimed, and bolted across the grass, with Carolyn close behind.

* * *

"Okay, that's good, guys," one of the waiting paramedics said. "Just set them down here… that's it."

Bobby and Mike had no sooner been laid down gently on the grass when Alex and Carolyn got there.

"Oh god," Carolyn whispered, looking from Bobby to Mike in horror. "Look at them…"

To say that Bobby and Mike were a mess would have been a gross understatement. Both men looked more dead than alive, lying unconscious and completely unresponsive on the ground. Both were deathly white, and icy cold to the touch, and the blood the rimmed Mike's mouth left him with a hideous, ghoulish look.

"They were trapped under a slab of concrete," Shore was explaining to the paramedics as they began working on the two detectives. "We had to just pull them out, so we don't know whether that might have done more damage. That guy there, I think we might have broken his arm, and maybe dislocated his shoulder pulling him free."

"Okay, guys, thanks," the lead paramedic said. "We've got it now."

Alex didn't hesitate any longer, darting forward and dropping to her knees on the grass beside Bobby. He looked so pale and lifeless that it sent chills through her body. She reached out, touching her fingertips to his pale face, tears overflowing down her cheeks when he didn't respond to her touch.

"Please, Detective," one medic pleaded, "let us do our job? Move out of the way."

"C'mon, Alex," Deakins murmured, gently taking her by the shoulders and urging her to her feet and drawing her back so the paramedics could work. Carolyn joined them, watching her partner being worked on with a fear-filled gaze.

Silence reigned, no words being spoken but those by the paramedics as they worked to stabilise the two men for the trip to the nearest hospital.

"Okay," one paramedic said firmly, leaning back away from Bobby. "Let's get him on board."

"Captain…?" Alex asked, and he looked questioningly at the paramedics.

"Do you mind Detective Eames going along? Detective Goren is her partner."

"No, she can come, as long as she stays out of our way."

Alex nodded gratefully and followed them to the nearest ambulance. A minute later, it pulled away, lights flashing and sirens blaring as it rushed its patient to hospital.

Deakins watched until it was out of sight before returning his attention to the paramedics who were working on Mike. It was a chilling sight, to see the tough detective lying so still, looking so lifeless. Beside him, Carolyn stood stiffly, barely breathing, as she watched the medics work desperately on her partner.

"Punctured lung…" one of them said tensely. "Damn it, he's drowning in his own blood…"

"We've got to get him to hospital…"

"If we don't stabilise him, we're gonna lose him on the way there."

"It's two minutes from here to St Barnabas. If he bottoms out on the way there, we should still be able to get him to the ER in time to bring him back."

A moment later, all speculation on the likelihood of Mike making it to the hospital was put on hold as his body convulsed once, violently, and then fell limp against the ground.

"He's not breathing," one of the medics announced in a loud, tense voice. "If we can't clear his throat right now and get him breathing again, we're going to lose him."

Deakins and Carolyn watched in numb silence as the medics rolled Mike over onto his side, and one of the medics cleared his mouth of the build up of blood and then slid a tube into his mouth and down his throat. Another medic inserted a syringe into the end of the tubing and used it to pump out any excess blood, and then a ventilator was fitted carefully to the end and the third medic began to manually pump air back into Mike's body.

"Okay, pulse is weak, but it's still there," the first medic said finally. "Time to move him."

"I want to go with him," Carolyn spoke up, barely able to keep her voice from shaking. The first medic nodded his consent.

"Okay, but you'll have to ride up front. We're going to need all the room we've got to keep working on him."

"You're taking him to St Barnabas?" Deakins asked as they lifted Mike onto a waiting gurney and carefully strapped him down. "Is that where the other ambulance was headed?"

"St Barnabas is the closest hospital with a trauma centre that's equipped to deal with injuries on this scale," the first paramedic explained. "We'll take your detectives there for initial treatment, and then they'll probably be transferred to an inner city hospital… probably Mount Sinai, for more detailed treatment. But yeah, right now we want to get them treatment as fast as possible, and St Barnabas is the closest."

Carolyn looked back at Deakins before climbing into the ambulance.

"Here, Captain, you might need these. I took them off Alex when we got here."

Deakins nodded, gratefully accepting the keys to the SUV from Carolyn.

"Go on," he told her. "Go with your partner, Barek. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Carolyn climbed into the ambulance without further hesitation and, moments later, it was gone, on its emergency run to St Barnabas Hospital.

"Excuse me, Captain, was it?"

Deakins looked around to find himself faced with a very dirty-faced engineer.

"Mr Shore, wasn't it?" Deakins asked, and Shore nodded.

"That's right. Tony Shore. Look, I'm willing to take full responsibility for this. We should have rechecked the building today. There was no excuse for not doing that."

A faint sigh escaped Deakins.

"In all honesty, Mr Shore, I can't bring myself to be angry with you. You went in there without hesitation and you brought my detectives out, alive. Whether they'll survive, I don't know, but thanks to you they at least came out of that building alive. I appreciate that more than I can really express at the moment. I have no intention of pressing any charges against you."

Shore nodded his gratitude.

"Thankyou. Uh… I know I'm probably pushing it, but could I ask a favour?"

Deakins raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Such as?"

Shore pulled a card from his shirt pocket and handed it to Deakins.

"My contact number is on that. I'd really like to know how those boys fare, if it's okay."

With a small smile, Deakins slipped the car into his inner jacket pocket.

"I'll let you know as soon as I know. Thankyou, Mr Shore. I appreciate everything you've done."

Shore watched as Deakins turned and walked away, shaking his head in amazement.

"What are you thinking, Boss?" Webb asked softly as he came to stand beside Shore.

"I'm thinking that those boys are damned lucky if that's their superior officer. My brother's a cop, and he said most of the suits wouldn't go two steps out of their way for their officers. That guy? He's an exception. Damn, I hope those guys will be okay."

"C'mon, Tony," Webb said quietly. "We got a demolition to finish."

Shore grimaced.

"Yeah," he muttered and, with a last look at Deakins' retreating figure, headed back to finish his job.

* * *

_tbc..._


	14. The Waiting Game

A/N: I'm fully aware that this chapter might make me kind of unpopular with those who might be hoping for a quick resolution, but what can I say? Sorry, I just don't do 'quick fixes'. The muse will go where the muse will go…

* * *

It took Deakins the better part of forty minutes to get clear of the grid-locked traffic, and by the time he ran into the ER waiting room of St Barnabas he was nearly sick with fear. He couldn't remember being this afraid for a long time. He couldn't remember ever being so acutely aware of the possibility of losing two men under his command.

He entered the waiting room, and quickly located Alex and Carolyn. They sat in a far corner, holding each other's hands for comfort. Alex was looking shell-shocked, while Carolyn was crying softly into Alex's shoulder. Deakins approached them slowly, a chill deep in his gut.

Alex looked up at him as he approached, her ashen features reflecting the horror they had all just witnessed.

"They're both in surgery. The doctors said they'd do all they could… but it's bad… for both of them."

Deakins sat down next to Carolyn.

"They're both strong guys. Until we're told otherwise, we assume they'll pull through."

Carolyn looked around at him, tears in her eyes.

"Mike went into cardiac arrest in the ambulance. They revived him, but for a minute there… he was dead. For just a minute there, Mike was dead."

Deakins embraced her warmly as she dissolved into tears once more, wishing there was something he could say that would help, even in just a small way.

"You know," Alex said suddenly, bitterly, "the worst part is that there's no one we can call for either one of them. No family… nothing. We _are_ their family."

Deakins looked at her over the top of Carolyn's head.

"Your father would come. He'd be here in an instant."

Alex swallowed hard. Deakins was right. Her family… and her father in particular… had taken Bobby into their hearts a long time ago. To them, he was as much a part of their family as she was, and they would come without hesitation to show support for him. She only needed to make the call.

Sighing softly, Alex pulled out her cell phone to call her parents. While she was dialling, Deakins' phone started ringing. Frowning, he answered it gruffly.

"Deakins."

"Captain, it's Jackson. I'm at the squad room with Myers… Uh… Do you know anything about a kid…?"

Deakins sucked in a sharp breath.

"Jeremy!"

"I, uh… I guess you do know, then."

"Where is he, Jackson?"

"In the break room, cleaning out the fridge. You want us to kick him?"

"No! No, leave him be... Wait… Actually, put him on. I want to talk to him."

There were muffled noises, and then Jeremy's voice came over the cell phone.

"Hi, did you make it in time? Did you find 'em?"

"We found them," Deakins confirmed. "Thanks to you, Jeremy. I promise I'll make sure you get to your aunt's place for this."

"So, they'll be okay, then?"

Deakins' stomach rolled ominously.

"We don't know yet, Jeremy. They were both very badly hurt. We just have to wait and see."

"Well… can I come to the hospital?"

"Maybe later. There's something else now that I need you to do. I need you to talk to the detectives that are there, and tell them absolutely everything you can remember about Friday night. Would you do that?"

"Yes, sir. I'll do that."

"Thankyou. Now, put Detective Jackson back on."

There was more muffled sound, and then Jackson was back.

"Captain? What the hell is going on?"

"I'm at St Barnabas Hospital in the Bronx," Deakins told him. "Eames and Barek are here with me."

"Eames and Barek?" Jackson echoed, puzzled. A moment later, understanding dawned. "Does this have something to do with why they were asking about where Goren and Logan went on Friday night? Has something happened to Goren and Logan?"

"Yes," Deakins admitted softly. "To put it simply, they were accosted and abducted late on Friday night, and locked in a cage in the basement of Collins Street Apartment Block."

There was a long moment of silence that followed that statement.

"But… that block was supposed to be demolished tonight… wasn't it?"

"Yes. It was."

Another long silence.

"Oh… fuck… Are they badly hurt?"

"They're both critical," Deakins told him, finding it difficult all of a sudden to speak without his voice cracking. "The demolition started before we could get there… The only reason they're alive now is because one of the explosive packs failed to detonate, and broke the sequence, but they were damn near crushed to death anyway. It looked bad when they were pulled out of there. Logan arrested on the way to the hospital, and Goren… It's bad, Jackson. We could lose them both."

"Oh no… Look, Captain, I'd like to call the rest of the squad and fill them in, if it's okay with you."

"That's fine, Jackson, but I want you to take a formal statement from the boy. Call Carver, and have Child Services send their advocate. Make sure everything's done properly. And try to get a hold of a sketch artist, if you can. I want a composite of a guy that Jeremy calls Big Joe."

"That's the son of a bitch who did this to Goren and Logan?"

"One of them, according to Jeremy," Deakins answered carefully. "Treat that boy decently, Jackson. If he hadn't come forward, we may not have found Goren and Logan at all."

"Will do, Captain."

The call ended, and then Deakins found Alex and Carolyn to be staring at him, puzzled.

"Who's Jeremy?" Alex asked.

"A street kid," Deakins explained. "He saw what happened on Friday night and came forward. It's because of him that Goren and Logan have a chance at all."

Carolyn sighed softly.

"I wanna meet that kid, and give him a huge hug."

Deakins smiled faintly in amusement. Jeremy didn't particularly strike him as the type of kid who would freely accept any show of physical affection, and he could only imagine how he'd react to getting a 'huge hug' from the likes of Carolyn Barek.

"I think he'll just be happy for a one-way ticket to his aunt's home in Connecticut. Alex, did you call your father?"

"Yes. He and Mom are on their way. Captain, you said this kid came forward…"

Deakins smiled again. "Actually, I found him in the break room when I got back to the squad room this afternoon… While you two were getting coffee. He snuck past security and was waiting up there for us."

"How did he know who to look for?" Alex asked with a frown. "How did he even know where to find us? I mean, not only did he find his way to One Police Plaza from the Bronx, but he also knew exactly which floor to go to! How the hell did he know?"

Deakins fell silent, baffled. The truth was, he didn't know, and he admitted as much with some reluctance.

"We'll have a chance to talk to him later," he said finally. "We'll be able to ask him then. But right now, let's just be thankful that he did find his way to us, however he did it. Because at least now, Bobby and Mike have a chance."

Carolyn looked at him warily.

"Are you going to investigate how they got into that situation at all?"

"You mean from the point of view of whether either of them was responsible for their situation? I don't think that's necessary. From what Jeremy had to say, it was an ambush, plain and simple. They weren't advertising that they were cops, and they weren't out looking for trouble… although, I will be looking forward to hearing from their own lips just why they thought it was a good idea to visit a bar in the Bronx."

"Mike doesn't have to look for trouble," Carolyn muttered. "Trouble usually manages to find him."

Deakins had to smile at that.

"True. Look, right now we'll just focus on hoping and praying that they pull through. All right?"

Both women nodded in wordless consent. Yes, they could do that.

* * *

It was nearly another three hours before a doctor finally emerged and make a beeline across the floor to them.

"Excuse me, folks," she said quietly. "I'm Dr Jane Harrison. I have Michael Logan in my care. Before any of you panic, I want to let you know that he came through surgery okay, and I believe he's going to make it. The next forty-eight hours or so are going to be critical, but I honestly believe he'll pull through. It's going to take time to recover, and he has some injuries that we just don't know whether he'll full recover from, but he will live."

"Thank God," Deakins muttered.

"What about Bobby?" Alex asked anxiously. Harrison paused for just a split second before answering.

"Robert's doctor is Aidan Mackey. He'll be out to speak to you soon."

"Is he dead?" Alex asked flatly, her gaze hardening fractionally as she visibly tried to prepare herself for the worst. Harrison shook her head.

"No, he's not dead. I can tell you that he came through surgery as well, but beyond that I don't know what his condition is. Michael is in my care, and it's him that I've come out to talk to you about."

"You said he has injuries he might not recover from," Carolyn said hoarsely. "Like what?"

"Okay. For starters, I just want to say that Michael was extraordinarily lucky."

"He might not think so," John Eames said quietly, no humour in his eyes. Harrison didn't so much as flinch.

"Be that as it may, he is lucky. The internal injuries he sustained were at a minimum, and considering what he's been through, that's no small miracle. The worst damage was to his lung, but we were able to drain it and repair the perforation without any complications. We have him intubated and on a ventilator, until he regains lung functionality. That might be three or four days… A week at the most. After that, most of his injuries are not life-threatening. The only thing we're really worried about as far as long term recuperation is concerned is his hand."

"His hand?" Deakins echoed, feeling his heart rate start to climb once more. "What about his hand?"

"Michael sustained a serious injury to the palm of his right hand," Harrison explained. "There is nerve damage, which we've done our best to repair, but we won't know until he fully regains consciousness what the likelihood will be of permanently impaired use."

"And in plain English," Carolyn said tensely, "you're saying he could lose the use of his hand."

Harrison nodded, speaking apologetically.

"It's a possibility, yes."

"What else?" Deakins asked softly.

"He has a bullet wound in the right thigh, but it's a clean wound, no complications. He has several broken ribs, as well as a number of other cracked or broken bones. Michael will recover, but I can't say for sure yet how completely, or how long it's going to take."

"Is it possible to see him?" Carolyn asked, straining to keep her voice even. Harrison nodded.

"Yes, of course. He's just been moved from Recovery into a room in ICU, but be aware that it's going be some time before he regains consciousness. At least twenty-four hours, if not longer."

As Carolyn stood up, Deakins looked from her to Alex, torn. John reached over and rested a hand briefly on his shoulder.

"Go ahead. Go with Carolyn. We'll wait with Alex."

Nodding his head in wordless thanks, he stood up and followed Harrison from the waiting room with Carolyn.

* * *

Less than ten minutes after Deakins and Carolyn had gone to see Mike, a second doctor emerged into the waiting room, scanning it briefly before heading across the floor to where Alex waited with her parents. She spotted him coming, and was on her feet before her parents knew it.

"How is he? How's Bobby?"

Mackey didn't even try to offer her so much as a reassuring smile.

"He's alive."

"Alive?" John echoed. "That's all you can say?"

Mackey sighed softly, and sat down opposite them.

"In the circumstances, it's a miracle I can even give you that much. Robert has serious injuries. Head trauma… blood poisoning from a bullet wound in his left leg… multiple broken bones… He was in deep shock by the time he was brought to us, and we had to revive him three times during surgery. The third time it happened, he suffered a major seizure. We suspect he may have suffered some degree of brain damage as a result of that seizure."

"Brain damage?" Alex echoed in dismay.

"We won't know what the extent of the damage is until he wakes up," Mackey told her. "It's possible that there won't be any damage, but we have no way of knowing until he regains consciousness, and that in itself is not an absolute certainty at the moment."

"What are you trying to say?" Helen asked, slipping an arm protectively around her daughter's trembling shoulders.

"What I'm saying," Mackey answered quietly, sombrely, "is that Robert is in a coma. He might wake up in a few hours… or a few days… Or he might not wake up at all."

* * *

"Look at him," Carolyn whispered as she and Deakins stood by their colleague's bedside in the ICU. Deakins nodded in wordless agreement with her dismay and horror. Mike had looked in bad enough condition upon being brought out of the partly demolished apartment block, but there was something intensely disturbing about the sight of the tough detective lying so still and unresponsive, hooked up to a ventilator with a tube down his throat. Even with his visible wounds treated, it was still frightening to look at him.

"I never thought I'd see Mike like this," she said softly. "When… when we realised they were missing… I never imagined…"

She faltered, and shook her head miserably, at a loss for words. Deakins took a step closer to the bed, looking down at Mike's passive features. The detective's face was ashen in some places, and hideously swollen in others, almost to the point of being unrecognisable.

His bare chest was battered black and blue, a grim, visible consequence of nearly being crushed beneath a concrete slab. It was a truly sickening sight.

"I've never known anything like this to happen before," Deakins admitted. "I've lost men before… I've seen good cops die… but never like this."

"How could this happen?" Carolyn asked bitterly as she began to cry once more. "How the hell could this happen?"

Deakins squeezed her shoulder in a gesture of fatherly affection.

"I don't know," he said softly. "But I promise you I'm going to find out."

* * *

It took every ounce of strength that Alex had not to collapse at the sight of her partner. It had been bad enough when Bobby had been brought out of the building with Mike. Seeing him so badly hurt and so unresponsive had sent waves of near paralysing fear through her body. But now, after the doctors had done everything they could, for him to still be so close to death…

She approached the bed slowly, sitting down carefully on the very edge and taking his hand up in her own.

"You can't leave me, Bobby," she whispered miserably, reaching out to gently stroke the side of his face with the backs of her fingers. "You have to wake up, Bobby. Damn it, I'm mad enough at you right now as it is. Don't you even think about making me madder at you by dying."

A hand came down lightly on her shoulder, and she looked up to see her father offering her a comforting smile.

"He's strong, Alex," John said quietly, "and he's a fighter. We have to have some faith now that he's strong enough to win this particular battle."

"I don't want to lose him," Alex whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I… I can't lose him."

Helen walked around to the other side of the bed. She paused for a moment, looking down at Bobby's passive features, and then reaching down to push a lock of hair back from his forehead, revealing an abrasion along his hairline. After a moment's consideration, she leaned down and kissed Bobby gently on that spot.

When she straightened back up, she looked back at her daughter with a soft smile.

"He'll live, honey. I believe he _will_ live."

Alex looked back to Bobby, blinking back the tears.

"I can't even begin to imagine what they must have gone through," she said shakily. "They… They must have believed they were going to die."

"I bet they had faith that you and Carolyn would find them in time," John murmured. "Bobby isn't the type of guy to give up easily, and I may not know Mike Logan so well, but I'd be willing to bet that he's no different."

"They must have been so damned scared, though," Alex whispered. The tears came in a fresh flood. "I just want him to wake up, and be okay. Is that too much to ask?"

John hugged her to him fiercely.

"No, honey, it isn't."

* * *

_tbc..._


	15. Vigil

_A/N: Okay, folks, this would have been available hours ago, but the document manager has only just allowed me to start uploading stuff again. Sorry..._

_

* * *

_

_Twenty-four hours later,  
__Monday evening_

The first thing Mike became aware of as he came slowly back to awareness was the warm hands that gently clasped his left one in a firm, reassuring grasp. He lay still and silent for a little while, allowing himself to simply enjoy the contact, as well as the absence of any pain or discomfort.

Right at that moment, his mind was effectively a blank, and he was more than content for it to stay that way. He didn't know where he was, or how he had gotten there. His memories were fuzzy, at best, and he had no immediate memories of the past forty-eight hours. He felt peaceful, and that was a state he hadn't achieved for a long time.

Minutes passed, and rather than slip back into the welcome oblivion of sleep, voices gradually permeated his consciousness and brought him reluctantly back to the present.

"…at least twenty-four hours, but probably longer. You have to be patient, Barek."

Mike frowned slightly on the inside. That was Deakins.

"I don't _want_ to be patient." And that was Carolyn… "I want him to wake up so I can smack him for being such an inconsiderate oaf, and scaring us all half to death! But… I also want to hug him, and tell him how glad I am that he'll be okay."

"I understand, but he isn't going to wake up until _he's_ good and ready."

Mike knew those tones all-too-well. They were the tones of worried colleagues… and yet, for the life of him, Mike couldn't fathom why they should be worried. He was here, wasn't he? Wherever here was… And they were here… So what was the problem?

He tried to draw in a long, deep breath, intending to tell them he was fine and to clear off and let him sleep, only to discover he was unable to – that something was controlling his breathing, forcing a steady, measured pace. A moment later, he finally became conscious of the distinct, artificial sound of a ventilator as it carried out the task of breathing for him. A moment beyond that, he became aware of the ugly sensation of a tube down his throat.

Seconds later, his gag reflex kicked in, and Mike Logan began to choke.

* * *

"What the hell…?" Deakins burst out, startled when a strangled, choking noise suddenly broke the quiet of the ICU cubicle. Carolyn jumped up from where she'd been perched carefully on the edge of the bed, looking down at her partner in astonishment.

"Mike… Captain, he's awake!"

Deakins glanced from Mike as he struggled against the intubation, to the machine that monitored the detective's pulse. It was rapidly rising right along with Mike's stress levels, and the heart monitor had begun to spike wildly.

"I'll find a doctor," he said, hurrying from the room.

Carolyn watched him go, and then returned her attention to her partner.

"Mike. Mike, can you hear me? I need to you calm down, Mike. Calm down and listen to me."

She raised the volume of her voice in an effort to get his attention and, gradually, he ceased his struggles and focused instead on the sound of her voice. His eyes flickered open finally, and he looked to her with a stark mixture of pain and fear. Carolyn leaned in close, running her fingers lightly over his hair and squeezing his left hand as tightly as she dared.

"You're safe, Mike. You're in St Barnabas Hospital. You and Bobby are both safe. Do you understand me, Mike?"

He groaned, only to have it come out sounding somewhere between a cough and retching sound.

"You have a punctured lung," she told him firmly. "They've got you hooked up to a ventilator while your body gets its strength back. You have to try and relax, Mike, or when a doctor comes in here, the first thing they'll do is sedate you. Please, calm down…"

Slowly, little by little, Mike began to relax and calm down. By the time Deakins returned with Dr Harrison, his heart rate had lowered itself considerably and his breathing was calm and regular. Noticeably, though, he had a death grip on Carolyn's hand, and he was watching her through half-opened eyes that clearly reflected the fear and misery he felt.

"Michael," Harrison murmured as she set about checking his vitals. "Welcome back."

"Mike," Carolyn said, a little more tersely than she'd intended. "It's Mike, not Michael. He doesn't like being called Michael, or Mikey… Just _Mike_."

Harrison nodded, unperturbed.

"Fair enough. Mike, can you hear me?"

His gaze flickered from Carolyn to Harrison, green eyes begging for answers, and for relief.

"Do you know where you are?" Harrison asked. Mike's eyes returned to Carolyn, and then he managed the slightest of nods. "Good," Harrison murmured. "Now tell me, do you know _why_ you're here?"

Mike continued to watch her with fearful eyes. He had no answer to give her, except for a slight shake of his head.

"It's okay," Harrison reassured him. "I don't expect you to be able to remember. That will all come back soon enough. Now, I want you to just nod or shake your head. Do you think you can stay calm? I would really prefer to not have to sedate you, if that can be managed."

After a long moment's consideration, he managed a single small nod.

"Good," Harrison said again. "I know this is uncomfortable, and very unpleasant, Mike, but the fact that you're awake and alert right now is a very good sign." She paused, gently brushing her hand over the top of his head. "You're going to pull through. You're going to be okay."

Her words were of little comfort to him. He had no conscious memories of what had happened to land him in the hospital like this. Carolyn had said he had a punctured lung, but he couldn't remember how that had happened and, more than anything, Mike desperately wanted to know what had happened to him.

Carolyn had mentioned Bobby Goren… So whatever had happened had obviously involved him as well. Had they both been shot? But no, he was sure that wasn't it. Besides, the hurt he was suffering wasn't centred in any one part of his body. His entire body hurt equally. He felt like someone had gone and dropped a house on him, like the witch in The Wizard of Oz…

Mike went rigid in the hospital bed as the memories of his and Bobby's ordeal returned with a vengeance, and it was only the ventilator that kept the breath from literally freezing up in his throat.

"Mike?" Harrison asked loudly in an effort to get his attention. "What is it? Are you hurting?"

"That's not hurt," Deakins said tensely. "That's panic. He's remembering what happened."

"Okay, I'm going to sedate him," Harrison said quietly, immediately turning to the tray she'd brought in with her and reaching for a syringe.

"No, wait!" Carolyn protested. "Don't just sedate him. He has to deal with it sooner or later…"

Harrison shot Carolyn a look that very clearly said 'I'm the doctor, you're not'.

"Then it's going to have to be later, Detective. I can't have him suffering panic attacks like this, not so soon after regaining consciousness. I don't have time to begin to describe the negative repercussions it could have on his recovery. Until I know he can remain calm, he'll have to be kept under sedation. It's the only option."

Carolyn fell back, watching through tear-blurred eyes as Harrison injected a clear fluid into Mike's IV. It worked fast. Mike was asleep again within half a minute. She paused, again checking his vitals before turning away from her patient to face Deakins and Carolyn.

"I'm sorry," she apologised quietly. "But it would have been negligent of me to let him remain in that state. It might seem small comfort to you at the moment, but the fact that he woke up now, and was able to demonstrate some clarity and awareness, is a very positive sign."

"You told him he'd be okay," Deakins pointed out. "Did you mean that?"

Harrison nodded.

"Generally speaking? Yes, I did. We won't know for a while just how much damage has been done to his hand, or whether it's in any way permanent, but aside that that, Mike has come out of it about as well as anyone could hope for." She took a step towards the door. "I have my rounds to complete, but I will stop in to see Mike again before my shift ends tomorrow morning. You folks might like to consider going home yourselves, and getting some rest. He won't be waking up again until tomorrow evening at the earliest. Excuse me."

Deakins watched her go, and then looked back in time to see Carolyn walk over and sit decisively in the chair on the other side of Mike's hospital bed.

"You heard her, Barek," Deakins said quietly. "We might as well go home for the night."

Even as he said it, though, he held little hope that she would agree. She didn't disappoint him.

"I'm staying, Captain. Even if he doesn't wake up again until tomorrow night… I'm not leaving him alone. Not again."

Alarm bells went off in Deakins' mind at her choice of words.

"What do you mean, 'not again'?"

Tears trickled slowly down Carolyn's cheeks.

"If Alex and I hadn't taken Friday off, Bobby and Mike wouldn't have been left alone… And if they'd planned to go out on Friday night, we would have been with them."

"And what? You think that this wouldn't have happened? It could still have happened, Barek, regardless of whether you and Eames were there. It could have been that four of my detectives were in danger, and not just two."

A bitter smile touched Carolyn's lips.

"If we'd been with them, they would never have gotten away with going to a bar in the Bronx."

That was something Deakins couldn't argue with. He stood there wordlessly for a long moment before sighing softly.

"I'll speak to the nurses, and ask them to bring you in a blanket and a pillow. Try and get some sleep, at least."

Carolyn nodded.

"Yes, sir. Are you going to see Bobby before you go?"

"Yes, I will. I'll let Alex know that you're staying again tonight. She'll probably want to, as well. Personally, I'd prefer it if you both went home and got some rest, but I understand why you need to stay."

Carolyn looked back at him gratefully.

"Thankyou, Captain."

Deakins paused in the doorway, taking one last look at Mike's now passive features before shaking his head and walking out.

* * *

_Tuesday morning,  
__6.30am_

Alex was dozing in an out of awareness when Carolyn wandered in.

"Hey," Alex mumbled tiredly. Carolyn smiled wanly, and held out a large Starbucks cup that was filled to the brim with steaming coffee.

"I came, bringing libations."

Alex managed a small smile, but that was all. She accepted the coffee gratefully, though.

"You went out and got this?"

"I needed the fresh air," Carolyn said by way of confirmation as she pulled the extra chair over and sat down. "Besides that, Mike's under pretty heavy sedation. He's not going to wake up probably for another ten to twelve hours."

"Deakins stopped in here out on his way out last night. He said Mike woke up."

"Yeah, he did. Not for long, though. He went into some sort of panic attack, or something, and the doctor sedated him. I hope he's calmer when he wakes up next, or she'll just do the same again."

Alex didn't respond, rubbing fiercely at her eyes and taking a few long sips of the coffee. She relished the scalding heat almost as much as the strong taste.

"No change?" Carolyn asked softly as she looked across at Bobby.

"No," Alex answered miserably. "He hasn't improved… but I suppose, on the positive side, he hasn't gotten any worse, either." She hesitated, and then spoke in a trembling voice. "He… He might have brain damage, Carolyn."

Carolyn's gut lurched horribly.

"Oh no…"

"It… It's not definite… but he suffered a seizure while they had him in surgery. They think it was a result of infection from the blood poisoning that he had, and he's got maybe a fifty-fifty chance of coming out of it without permanent damage."

"Those aren't bad odds, considering what he's been through," Carolyn pointed out gently. Alex stared at the coffee in her hands.

"He has to wake up first, though, and the longer he's comatose, the less chance he has of waking up. I… I overheard his doctor talking to another doctor last night. They were just outside the door there, and I guess they thought I was asleep. Dr Mackey… He said Bobby's brain activity was at a minimum. He… He said Bobby was just a few short steps away from being brain-dead…"

Her voice broke, and she set the coffee aside and buried her face in her hands. Shifting closer, Carolyn slid an arm around Alex's shoulders and hugged her warmly.

"Brain-dead, my ass. All it means is that he's gone into a kind of mental hibernation while he heals. He's going to be okay, Alex. He has to be. He knows damn well that you'll kick his ass if he's not."

Alex shuddered, fighting a losing battle to control the flood of tears.

"I'm scared, Carolyn. I've never been this scared before. Not… Not even when David died."

"David? Who was David?"

Alex hesitated. This was something that even Bobby only knew the very basics of. Was she ready to share with another colleague?

"David McKenzie," she said softly. "He was my husband."

"I didn't know you'd been married."

"No one in the squad knows. Only Bobby and Captain Deakins know, and even Bobby doesn't know all the details. It's not something I wanted to freely share around."

"Fair enough," Carolyn conceded. "Do you mind me asking what happened?"

"David was a homicide detective. He was involved in a major sting. It went bad… He and two other cops were killed. I on the job in Vice when it happened. By the time word got back to me, he was already dead. There was no waiting, no uncertainty. No 'will he or won't he'. He was dead. I was able to grieve, and eventually move on. But now…"

Discarding the blanket that had been draped over her knees, Alex got up and moved to the bedside. She paused, and then leaned down and kissed Bobby lightly on his bruised forehead.

"He could go either way. He might wake up at any time… or he might never wake up. Nobody knows, and that's what's killing me!"

Carolyn joined Alex at the bedside, looking down at Bobby's passive features with a quiet feeling of dread that simply wouldn't go away. Alex went on shakily, her cheeks wet with her tears.

"You know, I think the most frightening thing is seeing him so still. He's never this still. Even when he's sleeping, he's restless."

Carolyn saw an opportunity to lighten the sombre atmosphere, and grabbed at it with both hands.

"You've seen him sleeping, huh? When was this, exactly?"

Alex rolled her eyes, but couldn't quite keep a small smile off her face.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Barek, You're starting to sound like your partner. And yes, I've seen him sleeping. At my place, on my sofa."

Carolyn chuckled softly.

"You made him sleep on your little sofa? When you've got that big bed all to yourself? You're a cruel woman, Alex."

Alex raised an eyebrow.

"You're telling me I should be inviting Bobby to share a bed with me?"

"I would," Carolyn said simply. Alex smirked.

"So… you're saying that you think my partner's hot?"

Carolyn grinned and shrugged. "What can I say? I love a well-dressed man who doesn't give a damn about what other people think. And yes, I think he's hot, especially when he's wearing Armani."

Alex looked back down at Bobby, marvelling that she didn't feel uneasy talking about him in such a way when he was lying right there, in a coma.

"Well, when he wakes up, be my guest. Go ahead and ask him out."

Carolyn nodded and hugged Alex again.

"Exactly. _When_ he wakes up. Not _if_."

Alex shuddered and turned into Carolyn's embrace as fresh tears worked their way out of her eyes.

"I can't lose him, Carolyn. I can't."

"I know," Carolyn whispered. After a minute, Alex gently pulled away from Carolyn.

"I'm just going to go use the bathroom… splash some water on my face. Will you stay here until I come back?"

"Sure," Carolyn reassured her. She watched as Alex slipped out of the room, and waited until the door had swung shut again before turning back and looking down at Bobby once more.

"Did you hear that, Bobby?" she asked softly, reaching down to run her fingertips gently down his cheek. "If you lose this fight, she's going to go to pieces. So don't you even think of quitting. Do you hear me, Bobby? You have to come back to us, for Alex's sake."

* * *

_tbc..._


	16. The Burden of Guilt

_Tuesday night, late_

Deakins sat by Mike's bedside, fighting the desire to give in to his need for sleep. He'd been sitting there for nearly an hour now, after finally convincing Carolyn and Alex to leave the hospital for at least long enough to get something to eat. How much appetite either woman had, he didn't care to guess, but they had agreed to go all the same.

However, neither had been willing to leave their partners unattended, so now John Eames was sitting with Bobby, and he was sitting with Mike.

He didn't mind, not at all, but he was just so damned tired. Truth be told, he'd gotten precious little sleep when he'd finally gotten home the previous night. His sleep had been broken, and plagued by vicious nightmares. Images of Bobby and Mike as they were brought up out of the semi-demolished building haunted him. He knew just how close he'd come to having to attend two funerals, and it scared the living hell out of him.

He rubbed a hand tiredly over his face. Even now, the possibility still existed that one of his detectives might die. He'd spoken to Dr Mackey earlier that day, and Mackey had been less than enthusiastic about Bobby's chances of survival. Of course, he'd insisted that it wasn't a hopeless situation, but at the same time he'd warned against unrealistic expectations.

Apparently, wanting Bobby to wake up soon and have minimal or no brain damage was an unrealistic expectation, according to Dr Mackey. Deakins had quickly decided he didn't like the doctor much at all.

On the other hand, Mike's doctor, Jane Harrison, was a far more positive personality. She had been in to check on Mike personally a number of times in the last forty-eight hours, and each time she had been able to offer them a few words of reassurance. She was a stark contrast to Aidan Mackey in her attitude.

Deakins was just dozing off again when he caught sight of movement in the bed. Getting up, he found himself looked into a pair of green eyes that were filled with pain.

"Mike?" he asked quietly. "Are you with me?"

A slight but visible shudder passed through Mike, but then he gave a single, distinct blink. Deakins smiled faintly at the childish means of communication. Childish, but effective.

"Yes. Okay, that's good. Now tell me, is the pain bad? Do I need to get a nurse?"

There was a long moment, and then two distinct blinks.

"No," Deakins murmured. "All right, then. Do you think you can stay calm this time? I think your doctor would prefer not to have to sedate you again."

One blink. Yes, he could stay calm. Deakins nodded, relieved. Now, however, came the difficult part. He didn't like that he had to ask these questions right now, but nor could it wait the three or four days that it was going to take before Dr Harrison decided he could cope without the ventilator.

"Mike, do you remember what happened? Do you remember any of it?"

Mike didn't need to blink to answer that question. The look in his eyes was answer enough. Before Deakins had a chance to ask anything else, though, Mike startled him by reaching his left hand up and snagging the pen from the breast pocket of his jacket.

"You want something to write on?" Deakins guessed, and Mike blinked in confirmation. "Okay. I'll be right back."

Mike watched as Deakins hurried from the room. Although he was managing to stay outwardly calm, he was in turmoil on the inside. Yes, he remembered what had happened, and the memories along were enough to scare the hell out of him. What was even worse, though, was not knowing where Bobby was, or whether he was even still alive. He had to know, hence the request for something to write on.

Deakins returned with a clipboard and a handful of loose paper, which he held at an angle and height that Mike could manage. Holding the pen in a shaky grip in his left hand, Mike scrawled out the first thing he could think of, struggling to keep his writing legible.

_**bobby?**_

Deakins read the query, and was unable to keep himself from flinching. Mike saw, and the dread in his eyes was unmistakable.

"He's not dead, Mike," Deakins reassured him. "But he's not doing too good right now, either. Bobby's in a coma. We don't know when… or if he's going to wake up."

Deakins stopped short of mentioning the possibility of brain damage. Mike looked distraught enough without dropping that bombshell on him. Then, as Deakins watched, Mike scrawled again on the clipboard.

_**my fault**_

Deakins blanched visibly.

"What? You're not serious… How, in the name of God, could you think that what happened is your fault?"

Mike shuddered involuntarily, and a single tear worked its way out of his eye and rolled unchecked down the side of his face. He was fairly positive that he did not have the energy to write an answer to that question. Deakins stood still for a long moment before speaking again.

"This wasn't your fault, Mike. I'm as sure of that as I am that you wouldn't deliberately put yourself or anyone else deliberately in danger. _Did_ you deliberately put yourself and Bobby in danger?"

_**no**_

Deakins nodded at the definitive answer that Mike wrote.

"I didn't think so. Did you anticipate in any way that you might end up in a bad situation like that?"

_**no**_

"And you intended only for Bobby and yourself to have a friendly night out at a bar?"

_**yes**_

Deakins leaned in a little closer.

"So why do you want me to think it's your fault?"

Mike couldn't answer that. Deakins hesitated, and then reached out to lay a hand gently on Mike's shoulder.

"You can't answer me, because there's no answer to give. It wasn't your fault."

Mike looked away, feeling sick and distressed. He knew he should have been grateful for Deakins' benevolent attitude but, perversely, he couldn't help feeling cheated. He was nearly out of strength and stamina, but managed to lift the pen to write another brief message.

_**my fault if he dies**_

Deakins shook his head, frowning.

"No. No, I don't believe that. You can't be held responsible for this. If I'm going to lay blame on anyone, it'll be the son of a bitch who locked the two of you in that cage."

Mike shuddered once more. He had perhaps just enough energy left to write one more question. Gathering what shreds of strength he still had, he lifted pen to paper once more.

_**how did you find us?**_

Deakins smiled at that, quietly grateful for the change of topic. It disturbed him greatly that Mike seemed bent on taking the blame for what had happened to him and Bobby, and he simply didn't know how to redirect the other man's thoughts.

"Tell me, Mike, do you remember helping out a street kid by name of Jeremy?"

It took nearly a minute of searching his tired mind, but Mike eventually answered with a slight nod. Yes, he remembered Jeremy.

"Well, that one really came full circle, Detective. If you didn't believe in karma before this, you damn well ought to now. Jeremy was back out on the streets, and he saw what happened to and Bobby on Friday night. He followed when you were both bundled into that car and taken away, and he saw where you were put. He was out on the streets again when Eames, Barek and I started looking for the two of you on Sunday. He found out who we were, found out where our squad room is, and went there to wait for us, to tell us where you were. It's primarily because of him that you and Bobby are still alive, Mike. He put himself at risk, because he remembered how you helped him out once."

Mike shut his eyes, though it did nothing to hide the tears that forced their way out of his eyes. It didn't surprise him that Jeremy had had the nerve and the smarts to actively seek out Deakins, Eames and Barek. Even back four years ago, when he'd gone to the kid's aid, a part of him had wondered whether Jeremy even needed the help. The kid had plenty of good, old-fashioned courage, and he hadn't been afraid to accept help from a cop.

"Hey, he's awake?"

Mike looked just as his partner walked back into the room. She looked exhausted, Mike thought, and felt a fresh pang of guilt. Exhausted from sitting with him, for however long it had been.

Mike resolved then and there to take Carolyn out to the nicest restaurant he could find once he was recovered, to thank her for all she'd done and all she was doing. All of a sudden, more than anything, Mike wanted her to know how much he appreciated having her as his partner, and for her apparent dedication and loyalty to him. He wondered tiredly whether this was even remotely how Bobby felt about Alex, and found himself experiencing a whole new level of understanding toward his friend and colleague.

A hand closed over his own, bringing him gently back to reality, and he found himself looking up into the warmest, kindest face he had ever known. Carolyn smiled down at him, and reached down to smooth back his mussed-up hair.

"Welcome back, partner. How are you feeling?"

Mike glanced briefly at Deakins, and then away again. When Carolyn looked questioningly at the captain, he answered reluctantly.

"He's feeling guilty. That's how he's feeling."

He showed her the clipboard, and Carolyn scanned it briefly before looking back at Mike in dismay.

"That's not true, Mike. You can't believe that."

Why not? he thought dismally. Why couldn't he?

Carolyn went on, her voice growing fiercer by the second.

"We spoke to people who witnessed you and Bobby in the bar that night. You didn't do anything out of the ordinary while you were in there, and the guys that ambushed you weren't even in the bar themselves. They just happened to be out on the street when you left the bar, they made you both for cops, and decided to take out their issues on you. That _wasn't_ your fault."

Mike lifted the pen and reached for the clipboard once more.

_**shouldn't have gone there  
**__**my choice  
**__**my fault**_

Deakins sighed softly, frustrated that Mike didn't seem to want to be dissuaded from his belief that he was at fault.

"I agree. It was a bad choice of location, and if it will really make you feel better, I'll step into you over it _when you're better_. Not before. But the bottom line is that I am not laying the blame for this situation on your shoulders. The truth is, I'm too damned relieved that you'll be okay to want to do that to you."

He stepped back, away from the bed, throwing a wry look at Carolyn.

"Maybe you can talk some sense into him, Barek. I'm going to check in on Bobby, and then head back to One Police Plaza… see how the investigation is going."

Carolyn watched him go, and then turned her attention back to her partner. She was surprised to find that, while her attention had been diverted, he had scrawled again on the clipboard.

_**is bobby going to die?**_

Her breath caught almost painfully in her throat and, for a split second, her memory flashed back to the image of Bobby Goren, lying in a coma, his vital signs fading with every hour that passed.

What Deakins hadn't been aware of when she walked back in, and what he would find out when he stopped in to check on Bobby, was that Dr Mackey had been there when she and Alex arrived back. Even before then, it had been nearly impossible to get any sort of encouragement out of him as far as Bobby's condition, but this time he had virtually radiated pessimism.

Carolyn remembered with a distinct feeling of nausea the grim news that Mackey had delivered to them, with all the sympathy and consideration of a rock to the head.

Bobby was slowly but surely losing his fight for life. Not only did it seem unlikely that he was ever going to wake up, but according to Dr Mackey, the odds were high that he would not live out the week.

Bobby was dying, and there didn't seem to be anything anyone could do to save him.

Now, looking down at Mike's distressed gaze, Carolyn found she couldn't lie to him, not even to spare him the pain and grief temporarily.

"It… It isn't looking good. His doctor… He doesn't think Bobby is going to last out the week."

Mike looked away, stricken, and Carolyn glanced around fearfully as the heart monitor began to spike wildly in direct response to his distress.

_My fault_, he thought dimly. _My fault, my fault, my fault_…

Dimly, he heard another voice, followed by Carolyn's voice, but he couldn't make out what either voice was saying. Shadows moved around him, and he was vaguely aware of someone lifting his left arm briefly, and somewhere in the distant corners of his mind he thought he heard something about sedatives, and the IV.

Then, exhaustion overcame him, and his world faded to black once more.

* * *

_tbc..._


	17. Bracing Themselves

A/N: My apologies for the delay in posting this chapter, but I had to really think this one through, and I had one hell of a fight with my muse over it. You see, she wanted to kill Bobby off, and I didn't. But, you're going to have to read to find out who won. And, keep in mind, this was going to be two chapters, not one, until I realised I'd possibly be setting myself up for a cyber-lynching. Anyway, enjoy...

* * *

Carolyn left Mike's room to find Deakins standing in the corridor just outside Bobby's room. His face was white from shock, and she was sure he was trembling. She approached him slowly, bracing herself for what she thought was an inevitable explosion. He looked around as she approached, and she was shaken by the devastation that she read on his face, and in his eyes.

"He's dying," Deakins said hoarsely. "Bobby is dying… We're going to lose him."

"Alex told you," Carolyn said softly.

Deakins rubbed a hand tiredly over his face.

"Yes. She told me that Dr Mackey said that Bobby is deteriorating, that he isn't going to last out the week. She said he wants to turn off the life support."

"Alex hit the roof," Carolyn said softly. "And then, the callous son of a bitch said they needed the bed for other, non-terminal cases. I really thought Alex was going to just pull her gun out and shoot him then and there. Captain, can't we get Bobby transferred to Mt Sinai? That idiot doctor can't wait to pull the plug on him."

Deakins nodded his agreement.

"I'll speak to the Chief of Surgeons here, but I can't promise anything. Chances are he'd never survive the transfer between hospitals." He paused, looking past her to Mike's room. "Why aren't you…?"

"With Mike?" Carolyn asked. She looked down at the floor miserably. "I had to tell him about Bobby. He asked if Bobby was going to die, and I couldn't lie to him. I told him what Dr Mackey had told us, that Bobby was getting worse… That he probably wouldn't survive to the end of the week. It triggered another panic attack, and he had to be sedated again."

Deakins reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was developing a seriously bad migraine.

"It's the proverbial out of the frying pan, but into the fire'. I told myself when they were rescued that they'd both be okay. But now… I just don't know."

"Dr Mackey said he was willing to give Bobby three days to show some sign of improvement. He said if he hadn't improved at all by then, or if he continues to deteriorate, then he'll press for the decision to be made in favour of turning off the life support." Carolyn looked up at Deakins, pale and tearful. "You're his medical proxy, aren't you?"

Deakins nodded, feeling sick to his stomach.

"Medical proxy, and power of attorney. It will be my decision, if it comes to that, and believe me when I say I wish to God it was someone else's responsibility."

"You could refuse," Carolyn said hopefully, but Deakins shook his head.

"It isn't that simple, Carolyn. If Dr Mackey is right… if there's no chance of recovery for Bobby, then it won't do him or us any good to keep him alive artificially. Not if his mind is gone. He wouldn't want that."

"But how you do know?" Carolyn choked out. "How could you know?"

Deakins looked at her directly, pain and resignation in his eyes.

"I know, because it's what Bobby stipulated when I went with him two years ago to update his will. He specified when he signed power of attorney to me, and named me as his medical proxy, that if anything were to happen to him and he was left incapacitated with no chance of recovery, then he was not to be kept alive by artificial means."

"No…" Carolyn whispered in dismay as she realised what Deakins was saying. He went on grimly.

"He wanted to be allowed to die on his own terms, Carolyn. He didn't want to be kept here… as nothing more than a vegetable. If that really is the case now, then I can't just disregard his wishes. I'll be obliged to go ahead, and authorise his doctor to turn off the life support."

"No."

Deakins and Carolyn both looked around to see Alex standing there in the doorway of Bobby's room, with her father right behind her. Neither looked happy, but the expression on Alex's face was one of pure, unadulterated fury.

"Alex…" Deakins started to say, but she cut him off sharply.

"No. You aren't going to do it. You aren't going to kill him."

"Alex, be reasonable…"

"I said no! If you let them turn off his life support, then you're no better than the bastards who left Bobby and Mike locked up in that cage in the first place."

As she spoke, she walked towards him, until they were barely inches apart. Deakins instinctively tried to retreat from her, but he already had his back to the wall, and there was nowhere for him to retreat to. Drawing in an unsteady breath, he spoke with forced calm.

"Alex, if he's brain dead, then there's no alternative. We can't just leave him in that state. He wouldn't want it, and you know it!"

"I know he wouldn't want us to quit on him," she snapped. "Not while there's still a chance."

"We have to trust that his doctor knows what he's talking about, Alex. I'm sure he wouldn't allow Bobby to die if there was even a slim chance of him recovering."

"You can trust him. I don't. I don't believe there's no chance. I _do_ believe that as long as he's still breathing, there _is_ a chance, and I won't let anyone take that away from him. Not his doctor, not you… not anybody."

Deakins looked past Alex to John for some support, but there was none forthcoming.

"I'm sorry, Jim," he said quietly. "I have to side with Alex on this one. I'm no doctor, but I've spent enough times in plenty of ICUs to have a basic understanding of the machines. And unless I'm way off-course in my assessment, the machine in there that monitors brain activity is still humming. Whatever that doctor thinks, Bobby is _not_ brain dead. He's still fighting, and I think it'd be criminal to take that away from him now."

Deakins groaned aloud.

"Do you think I want him to die? I don't! Damn it… I made a promise to Bobby, and I can't break that promise. I won't betray the trust that he put in me."

"By killing him?" Alex choked out. "You can't be serious…"

"Hang on!" Carolyn burst out, fed up with the anger, and the mounting tension. "Just wait a moment! He's not at that point yet! Didn't Dr Mackey say he had three days to improve?"

"That's right," John confirmed. Carolyn nodded.

"All right, then. They say coma patients can hear what's going on around them, and that sometimes it even helps them to wake up. I say we spend the next three days doing everything we can to make him hear us, and to get him to fight his way back. "

Deakins nodded in agreement.

"All right." He looked uneasily from John to Alex. "Don't get me wrong. I hope to God he does show some sign of improvement. I really do. But if it comes to the crunch, I can't go against Bobby's wishes, no matter how much it hurts us all." He locked stares with Alex. "And yes, Alex. It will hurt me as much as it hurts you."

She stared at him with bitter anger.

"Somehow I doubt that."

Wheeling around, she stalked back into Bobby's room, leaving the rest of them standing in uncomfortable silence in the hallway.

"You would seriously agree to them switching off that boy's life support?" John asked, staring at Deakins incredulously.

"Yes," Deakins confirmed. "If they can prove he really is brain dead, that there's no chance of him coming back, then yes. I would. It's what he wanted. I don't like it, but it's what I agreed to with him when I accepted responsibility of being medical proxy, and taking on power of attorney for him."

John sighed softly.

"I understand you're in a difficult position, Jim, but if you agree to that doctor's demands, and authorise him to turn off Bobby's life support… Well, I'm warning you now, Alex may just never forgive you."

Tears stung Deakins' eyes, but he managed to hold John's gaze.

"Do you think I want to do that? I don't, John! I want Bobby alive, and I want him back with us! But Bobby trusted me, and I can't betray that trust. The doctor said he doesn't expect Bobby to live until the end of the week, and he's given Bobby three days to make some improvement. That's a deadline of Friday night. Now, if it gets to Friday night, and Bobby _has_ improved, or if he's even just stayed the same as he is right now, then I'll refuse to allow the life support to be turned off. But if he continues to deteriorate, and if he really is brain dead by that time, then I will not allow him to be kept alive when it won't do anything to help him. I won't stand by and watch one of my best detectives be turned into a vegetable."

John looked over at Carolyn, who nodded in wordless agreement. Little though they liked it, Deakins' words made sense, and he was putting forward a reasonable ultimatum, given the grim circumstances.

"Okay," John said softly. "We wait until Friday night, then."

* * *

_Friday night_

Mike drew in a steady, albeit shallow breath as he was wheeled slowly out of his room and down the hallway towards Bobby's room. He had finally regained sufficient strength to come off the ventilator, and be extubated, but he'd quickly found he still had to be careful to keep his breathing slow and even. His body was weak, horribly weak, and any sort of stress could potentially cause his lungs to pack it in altogether.

Carolyn had told him about the three day deadline for Bobby some ten or twelve hours later, when he'd woken up once more from the most recent lot of sedatives. Mike had spent the following hours, and subsequent days, on tenterhooks, waiting for word one way or the other.

When the tube had finally been removed from his throat that morning, his first perceptible words had been to ask how Bobby was. To his dismay, the news had not been good. Far from improving, Bobby had ended up slipping further away from them. According to what Carolyn had been able to relay to him, the machine that monitored brain activity was just one short step away from being the heart monitor's equivalent of flatline. There was brain activity, but it was so miniscule that it could hardly be considered to be anything more than an insignificant flicker.

Dr Mackey had apparently told a distraught Alex Eames, her parents, Deakins and Carolyn just before noon that day that it was not enough to allow Bobby even a slim chance of waking up. Indeed, the doctor had stated in no uncertain terms that he fully expected that even that small amount of brain activity would cease within a matter of hours. Then, Bobby would truly be brain dead, his body nothing more than an empty shell.

In effect, a deadline had been set. Barring a miracle, the life support was to be switched off at 5.30pm that evening. They all had until then to say their final goodbyes.

According to Dr Mackey, once the life support was switched off, Bobby might continue live for anything up to an hour or more, though that was, in reality, an unpredictable thing. The only guarantee was that come Saturday morning, Bobby Goren would be dead.

It was a very bitter pill for all of them to swallow, but even moreso for Mike, who felt more responsible than ever for his friend's imminent death.

Mike's breath caught in his throat as he was pushed into Bobby's room. His gaze flickered around briefly, taking in the small group that was gathered there.

Alex, of course… Deakins, Carolyn, John and Helen Eames… It was heart-breaking, the small number that had gathered to say goodbye to Bobby.

Unwittingly, Mike glanced up at the clock on the wall above Bobby's bed. It read 5.16pm. He had a little over ten minutes to find the right words to farewell his friend.

A hand came down on his shoulder, and he glanced up to see Deakins standing there. The captain looked devastated, Mike reflected numbly. They all did.

"Say whatever you feel you need to, Mike. We already have."

_Yes_, Mike thought as he took in the mixture of rage and grief on Alex's face, _and not all of it to Bobby, I'll wager._

He hesitated, and then spoke tentatively.

"Uh… Could I… be alone with him? Would anyone mind?"

His request was met with silence. Then, without uttering a word, they filed slowly out of the room.

Alex was the last to go, and she paused on her way out to crouch down beside him. Mike looked at her warily, expecting some sort of verbal recrimination, but there was none. Instead, to his astonishment, she leaned forward and kissed him gently on the cheek. When she drew back to find him looking at her in confusion, she offered him a small, sad smile.

"This isn't your fault, Mike. I know you're still blaming yourself, and I want you to stop."

"He's going to die, Alex. How can you not blame me?"

She reached up to cup his cheek briefly, then smooth back a wayward lock of hair.

"Because you're not the one who locked him in that cage. And because you aren't the one who gave the go-ahead to his doctor to turn off the life support."

"Don't blame Deakins," Mike pleaded with her. "He… He's just doing what he thinks is the right thing. It's what he says Bobby wanted."

Tears spilled down Alex's cheeks.

"It's too late to debate that now." She straightened up, and as she did so she kissed him once more, this time on the forehead. "You might have made a dumb choice that night, Mike, but Bobby made that choice right along with you. And I know you did all you could to help him while you were trapped in that building. I'll always be grateful to you for that."

Without giving him a chance to reply, Alex slipped quietly out of the room and closed the door behind her, leaving him alone with his dying friend.

* * *

"Well," Mike muttered, already feeling the words catch in his throat. "This sucks." He sighed softly. "I… I don't have a whole lot of experience doing this, Bobby. Saying goodbye to someone, I mean. Hell, I couldn't even bring myself to go to Lennie Briscoe's funeral, I was such a fucking coward. And now I've got ten lousy minutes to find a way to say goodbye to you."

Mike paused, looking up at Bobby's deathly pale features. It wasn't all that different to how he'd looked during those last few hours imprisoned in the basement of the condemned building. Except, now Mike knew for a fact that Bobby was dying, and this time there really was no hope of rescue.

And suddenly, Mike was angry. Very, very angry.

"You know what, Goren?" he said abruptly. "I'm not doing it. I'm not saying goodbye to you, because you're not going to die. Yeah, that's right, pal. You heard me right. I don't give you permission to die."

As he spoke, the anger flared up inside him, white-hot and powerful. He went on in a whisper that has as much impact as an enraged shout, barely aware of the tears that were nearly blinding him.

"You bastard, Goren. You fucking bastard! How could you do this? After everything that happened, and everything we said to each other… How the _fuck_ could you just quit like this? Goddamn you, Bobby! You selfish son of a bitch! We said we'd fight. We both made that promise. Don't you dare give up on me now! Do you hear me, Bobby? Don't you fucking dare!"

Mike drew in a slow, rasping breath that did nothing to quell the anger he felt.

"I know you can hear me, you jackass. I know damn well that you can hear every goddamn word I'm saying. You told me not to martyr myself, but then you try to do the same? Well, fuck that, Goren, and fuck you! You made me believe we still had a prayer while we were in that cage." Reaching up, Mike closed his good hand tightly over Bobby's. "Can you feel that, pal? That's me, not letting you go. Now fight, goddamn you! Show a little bit of that stubbornness that you're so famous for, and fight!"

His voice cracked as he pleaded with Bobby, and tears rolled unchecked down his cheeks.

"I can't say that I won't forgive you if you quit on us now, Bobby, but I guarantee that I'll never be able to forgive myself. Just… fucking wake up, will you?"

The door opened behind him, and Dr Mackey stepped back into the room, the others close behind.

"It's time," Mackey said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Mike ignored him, staring desperately as his comatose friend.

"C'mon, Bobby," he pleaded desperately. "Don't do this to us. Don't let those bastards win, not now."

Even as he made his last plea, though, someone took hold of the wheelchair and pulled him back, out of reach of his friend.

"No…" he whispered, but his protest went unheard as Mackey walked around and, as they all watched, disconnected the life support that was helping to keep Bobby alive.

"How long?" John asked in a strained voice. Mackey shook his head.

"There's no way of knowing. He could go any minute… or he may last for a few more hours yet. I don't think it will be long, though. Again… I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Mike whispered hoarsely as Mackey left the room. "I'll bet you are."

"Mike?"

He looked up through a veil of tears to find Carolyn looking at him in concern.

"What do you want to do, Mike?" she asked softly. "Did you want to stay here?"

He shook his head, distraught.

"I can't do this… I can't watch him die. Get me outta here."

Carolyn looked over at Alex.

"I'll be back shortly."

Alex didn't respond. She had taken up a final vigil at her partner's side, holding his hand tightly in her own and speaking to him in a low murmur. John nodded at Carolyn, to acknowledge her words, but said nothing. Sparing Deakins a miserable look, Carolyn guided Mike's wheelchair out through the door, and back down the hallway to his room.

* * *

_Three hours later_

Carolyn returned to sit with Alex after returning Mike to his own bed but was back with him a little over half an hour later, unable to stomach the mounting tension in the other room. Deakins had stayed despite the palpable anger directed towards him from Alex, promising Carolyn that he would come and let her and Mike know when it was finally over.

"I really thought he'd pull through," Mike said softly, shakily, as Carolyn sat beside him on the bed, hugging him gently. "After all the crap we went through… I couldn't imagine him _not_ being okay. I… I never thought it'd get to this point. God, I feel so sick."

She brushed her fingers lightly over his cheeks, wiping away excess tears.

"I talked to your doctor earlier, Mike. She said that you should be able to be transferred to Mt Sinai as early as Sunday. We can finally get you out of the Bronx."

He didn't respond to her weak attempt at a joke.

"I'm not going," he said hoarsely, and she raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"You like it here that much?"

He looked up at her finally, realising they'd managed to cross their wires.

"No. I mean, I'm not going to the funeral. I can't do that. It's hard enough, knowing he's dying right now, right in the next room. I can't go to his funeral. I… just can't."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Carolyn murmured, fighting back a fresh flood of tears.

"There won't be anything to discuss," Mike snapped. "I won't go."

"Mike…"

"I said no! I can't say goodbye to another friend. I'm not going to his goddamn funeral!"

Carolyn started to speak again, but any further protests were cut off abruptly when a voice spoke from the doorway.

"It's all right, Carolyn. Don't argue with him."

Carolyn looked around at Deakins in distress.

"But Captain, if anyone needs to be there, it should be Mike."

"Why?" Mike asked bitterly. "So they can all have someone to lay the blame on? Because that's the only reason I can think of."

"Mike," Deakins said tiredly, "the only person who seems determined to blame you, is _you_."

Mike looked away, but not quickly enough to hide the new tears that filled his eyes. Carolyn watched him sadly for a long moment before looking back to Deakins.

"Is it over? Is he… gone?"

Deakins stepped fully into the room, wandered over and sat down in one of the visitor's chairs.

"I don't think we really expected him to last much more than half an hour without the life support, so I guess you could say we were kind of surprised that Bobby was still hanging in there after an hour. Mike… what exactly did you say to him when we left you alone with him?"

Mike looked around at Deakins slowly.

"I told him quit being such a bastard, and wake the fuck up. Why?"

A ghost of a smile appeared on Deakins' face.

"After an hour and a half, his heart rate started to improve."

Carolyn sat up with a start.

"What?"

"You heard me, Barek. Then, after two hours, his brain activity began to increase, and his vitals all started to get better."

"Captain, what are you saying?" Mike asked softly, hardly daring to hope. Deakins looked from Carolyn back to Mike, looking both bewildered and relieved at the same time.

"Bobby Goren just woke up."

* * *

_tbc..._


	18. Reassurances

Mike was barely aware that he was holding his breath when Deakins and Carolyn wheeled him back towards Bobby's room. It was a hive of activity all of a sudden, with doctors and nurses running in and out. Alex stood just outside with her parents, all of them watching anxiously.

"It's true…?" Mike asked softly as he got a glimpse into the room. Bobby's upper body had been lifted up into a half-sitting position to aid examination not only by Dr Mackey but to all their relief, Dr Harrison as well. By all appearances, Bobby seemed to be not only awake, but aware and responsive into the bargain.

"He's awake," John confirmed, unable to keep the grin off his face. "The boy's a walking miracle. Well, so to speak."

"What happened?" Carolyn asked. Alex looked over at them, her tears of grief now turned into tears of relief and joy.

"I was just sitting there, holding his hand… and I felt his fingers move. Then, when I looked at him, his eyes were open, and he was watching me. He… He was really, actually watching me…"

"Thank God," Carolyn whispered. Mike looked back into the room.

"Was he able to talk at all? I mean, did he seem to be… you know…"

"Brain damaged?" Alex echoed. She shook her head. "It didn't seem like it to me. He wasn't strong enough to talk, but he was definitely trying hard enough. Mike, whatever you said to him…"

"It wasn't me," Mike said softly. "It was all him."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that."

They looked around to find Dr Harrison standing there, eyeing Mike with amusement. She continued to speak, not making any effort to hide the grin on her face.

"Mike, did you call Bobby a selfish bastard?"

Mike reddened slightly at the looks that he was suddenly getting from his companions, but nodded.

"Yeah, but it was because I was angry at him. I thought he was giving up."

She chuckled.

"Detective, you've just provided living proof that a comatose person can hear what's going on around them. Bobby _definitely_ heard you."

"Loud and clear, by the sounds of it," John said with a laugh. Mike, however, wasn't placated.

"Is he going to be okay? There's not going to be any chance of a relapse, or anything, is there?"

"The next twenty-four hours are going to be touchy, and he's going to be pretty annoyed with us. We're going to need to keep waking him up every hour to ensure he _doesn't_ relapse. But he is awake and, even better, it looks like he hasn't suffered any diminished cerebral capacity…"

"In English, if you don't mind?" Helen asked lightly, and Dr Harrison smiled.

"Sorry. Basically, if there is any brain damage, it's very minimal. But I suspect that when further tests are conducted, we'll find that he hasn't suffered any negative long-term effects at all. So yes, I think he's going to be okay."

"Can we see him?" Carolyn asked. Harrison glanced around, back into the room, and then offered them a reassuring smile.

"Another five or ten minutes, and then you'll all be welcome to rejoin him. Just give us a chance to run some preliminary tests. Okay?"

"Will Dr Mackey still be looking after him?" Alex asked suddenly, obvious distaste in her tone. Again, Harrison regarded her reassuringly.

"Yes, but only in a very basic capacity. Ultimately, until he can be transferred to Mt Sinai, Bobby will be my responsibility. I'll be the one making the decisions about his care from this point on. Not Dr Mackey."

"Well, thank God for small favours," John muttered. Harrison chuckled softly.

"Excuse me. The sooner we get done with our little tests, the sooner you can be back in there with him."

* * *

"Hey, you."

Bobby looked around slowly at the sound of Alex's voice. His movements were sluggish and uncoordinated, but otherwise deliberate and moderately controlled. A small smile touched his lips and lit up his pale face as his gaze focused on her.

"…'lex…"

Her name came off his tongue slightly garbled, but still understandable. Smiling back at him reassuringly, Alex walked around and perched herself carefully on the edge of the bed, slipping her arms around him in a warm hug.

"Bobby, you gave us such a scare…"

A very faint sigh escaped him as he surrendered willingly to her embrace.

"Didn't mean to."

"It's okay now," Alex murmured, kissing him gently on the temple. "You're going to be okay, Bobby. Everything's going to be fine."

Bobby's attention was drawn away from Alex by movement on the other side of the bed, and he looked around as John and Helen, and Carolyn and the captain all gathered around the bed. Deakins manoeuvred Mike up near the head of the bed, so that the two men were within close proximity to each other. It didn't take long for Bobby's attention to focus on his injured colleague.

"Mike…"

He let his hand slip off the side of the bed, and Mike reached up to take it without hesitation.

"I'm here, Bobby. We made it, pal. You were right, after all."

"Right about what?" Carolyn wondered, but neither Mike nor Bobby attempted to answer her. Their attention was suddenly, exclusively on each other, and right at that moment it was as though the rest of them did not exist.

"Told you," Bobby mumbled tiredly. Mike smiled weakly.

"Yeah, I know. You did, and you were right."

"Mike?" Deakins asked. "What are you talking about? What was Bobby right about?"

"When we were in that cage," Mike explained quietly, "Bobby said we'd get out of there. He said Alex and Carolyn would find us. He had faith that they would."

Tears overflowed in Alex's eyes.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," she murmured, hugging Bobby to her once more. "But we were nearly too late."

"What about you, Mike?" John asked. "Did you believe that, too?"

Mike locked stares with Bobby, still grasping his hand firmly.

"I believed it, because Bobby did."

Bobby sighed again, and finally looked away, his eyes growing heavy.

"So tired…"

"Sleep, then," Alex encouraged him, lightly stroking his forehead. "I'll be right here. I promise I won't go anywhere."

His eyes fluttered closed, but as he drifted back off to sleep, his lips moved in a whisper that Alex had to lean in close to hear.

"What did he say?" Helen asked as Alex shot Mike a wry smile.

"He said he's not a jackass."

Mike couldn't help it. He started to laugh and cry at the same time.

"Son of a bitch… He really did hear me."

"You called him a jackass?" Carolyn asked incredulously. Mike shrugged lopsidedly, but remained unapologetic.

"Yeah. Like I said, I was angry at him."

"Just what _did_ you say to him?" Alex asked curiously. Wiping at his eyes, Mike answered quietly.

"I told him he was a bastard for quitting like that, after everything we'd been through, and everything we'd talked about. I said that he couldn't die, because I wasn't going to let him go. I just told him to wake the hell up."

John snorted with laughter as he observed Bobby's sleeping form.

"There you go. That's what we were doing wrong. All this time, when we were being all gentle about it, we should've been giving him a verbal kick in the ass. He would've been awake days ago."

"I don't know about that," Alex murmured. "You know, something tells me he was just waiting to hear Mike's voice." She looked around at her colleagues, and her parents. "All the time we were sitting with Bobby, talking to him, did any of us think to tell him that Mike was going to be okay?"

Silence met her question, and she nodded.

"I thought not."

"Hey, hang on," Mike protested. "Are you seriously telling me that you think he was letting himself die, just because he thought I _wasn't_ okay? C'mon, Alex, that's bullshit."

"Is it?" she asked, looking at him pointedly. "He hadn't responded to any of us at all this week, Mike. Then you come in, give him a serve, and three hours later, he's awake. If you've got a better explanation, I'd love to hear it."

Mike fell silent, baffled.

"You two must have developed a pretty strong bond," John commented. They all expected Mike to deny it vehemently, but he didn't. Instead, he looked at Bobby's hand, still clasped in his, and felt fresh tears sting his eyes.

"We did one better than that," he said softly. "We became friends. I… just couldn't face losing another friend."

Deakins patted him reassuringly on the shoulder.

"None of us have to face that now, Mike, thanks to you."

"Not just me," Mike corrected, reluctantly releasing Bobby's hand so that Deakins and Carolyn could return him to his room. "We survived together. We survived because we _were_ together."

"Whatever mistakes that boy thinks he made," John said softly once Deakins and Carolyn had taken Mike out, "he's made up for them tenfold. Bobby would have died if it hadn't been for Mike."

"Not just now, either," Alex murmured. "If what Dr Mackey said was right, then Bobby had a severe infection and blood poisoning for more than twenty-four hours before they were rescued. It could have been bad enough to kill him, but somehow Mike managed to keep that infection at bay. He saved Bobby's life, at least twice over."

Helen sighed as she reached over and gently smoothed back Bobby's wayward locks of hair.

"Now, we just have to convince Mike of that."

* * *

_tbc..._


	19. Telling His Story

Deakins waited silently, patiently, as a nurse helped Mike back into bed, fussing over him and making sure he was as comfortable as possible before finally leaving them alone.

"All right," Deakins said quietly, moving up to the side of the bed, and disregarding the looks shared by Mike and Carolyn. "Let's have it, Mike. I want to hear it from your own lips, and in your own words. What happened last Friday night?"

Mike grimaced.

"I wondered when you'd get around to asking me that."

Carolyn stared at the captain, puzzled.

"Why wait until now? Why not ask him earlier?"

"Firstly," Deakins answered her, "because I wanted to be sure he was up to it. Secondly, I want a concise and accurate telling. I don't want the facts clouded by some misguided sense of guilt." He looked back at Mike. "Bobby is going to live, and by all appearances with no lasting physical trauma. He's going to be okay. Now, start talking, Mike, and don't exaggerate _anything_."

Mike looked away, and tried to gather his thoughts. He'd known this had been coming, but that knowledge hadn't made it any easier to prepare himself for it. A hand came down on his own, and he looked around to see Carolyn standing there, watching him with a warm, reassuring smile. Her silent support gave him courage, and he drew in an unsteady breath before speaking.

"You… You want me to start from when we left One Police Plaza, on the Friday night?"

"Wherever you like," Deakins told him quietly. He was trying to be as non-confrontational as possible, to keep Mike calm and suppress any chances of a fresh panic attack. He still maintained the belief that Mike was not to blame, but he knew he would have a difficult time on his hands if Mike started twisting his story to bring the blame back to himself.

"Okay… Uh… So, we left around six, I think. I'd told Bobby about a bar that I knew over in the Bronx. I used to go there a lot when I was on Staten Island."

"Define 'a lot'," Deakins said. Mike thought about it for a moment.

"At least once every couple of weeks. Sometimes more often than that. I always went on my own, though, and I never let anyone know I was a cop. I guess, because I worked Staten Island, the chances were pretty slim that someone would make me for a cop."

Deakins nodded wordlessly. Mike's words made sense, in a slightly bizarre way. Mike went on quietly.

"We got to the bar just after seven… Friday night subway crush, you know? We stayed there for maybe three hours… I think that it was around ten when Bobby decided it was time to leave."

"You were both drunk?" Deakins asked, keeping his tone even. He didn't need Mike thinking he was being condemned, and get all defensive on him.

"Not drunk," Mike corrected. "I mean, we could both walk a straight line without tripping over our own feet. We had a buzz going, you know?"

"So, nothing at all happened while you were in the bar? You didn't notice anyone taking particular notice of _you_?"

"No, nothing like that. No one hassled us at all while we were in there. We were having a good time, that was all. No harm, no foul… It was when we left the bar that the shit hit the fan."

"All right. So what happened then?"

"We got outside, and got to the corner. Bobby was going to call for a cab, but he didn't have his cell phone. He figured he'd left it behind in the bar." Mike hesitated, looking uneasily at Deakins. "I… uh…"

"I know. You left yours on your desk on Friday night, and we _will_ be having a discussion about that, believe me. But not now. Just keep going, Mike. What happened then?"

"Bobby said he'd go back and get his cell from the bar, but when he turned around there was this big guy standing there. He really was big, even bigger than Bobby, and that's saying something. He asked us if we were lost, and Bobby said no. Then, he said he figured we had to be lost, because there was no way a couple of cops would be caught out in that part of town after dark. So then we said we were just gonna get a cab, and we'd be gone. They wouldn't see us again. He… offered us a ride, and when we declined, he pulled a gun on us."

"Was it just him?" Deakins asked.

"No, there was six or seven other men, as well as him. They had us hemmed in, totally. We had nowhere to go, Captain."

"All right, Mike. What next?"

"They bailed us up against a car that they had waiting…"

"They had a car there? Waiting for you?"

"Yeah… Yeah, they did. I didn't think about it before, but it had to have been there for a little while. It was a damned cold night, but the hood of that car was warm. The engine had been running for a while. Anyway, they patted us both down… took our wallets, our shields and our guns… Bobby and I, we never said anything, but we were thinking the same thing. If we let them put us in that car, we were goners. So, we fought."

"You and Bobby took on seven or eight men?"

"Hell, yeah. And we were doing good, too. At least, I thought we were. I managed to fight my way free, and I was heading for the bar, but then the guy that ambushed us to begin with yelled after me. When I looked back, they had Bobby pinned to the ground, with a gun to his head. The son of a bitch said if I didn't come back, he'd put a bullet in Bobby's head."

"So you went back," Carolyn murmured, speaking for the first time since Mike had started telling the story.

"I had to," Mike whispered, his voice cracking. "I couldn't just walk away. That would have been the worst kind of betrayal. I couldn't leave him, Captain…"

Deakins reached over, and laid a firm hand on Mike's shoulder.

"It might not have been the procedural thing to do, Mike, but it was the right thing to do. Go on. What next?"

"When I went back, they threw me onto the ground beside Bobby. We struggled, but we both got shot in the leg. Then, they hit us over the head… and the next thing we know, we're waking up in that fucking cage."

Mike rubbed self-consciously at his eyes, suddenly aware of the tears that were rolling down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Captain. For everything…"

"Mike, stop it. Stop apologising. You did nothing wrong, and there's no crime against bad judgement. So it wasn't the brightest idea to go to a bar in the Bronx. You had no way of anticipating what was going to happen, and you said yourself that you'd been going to that bar regularly while you were stationed on Staten Island. Everything you've just told me corresponds to what we got from Jeremy. So, the only thing I'm going to take you to task over is leaving your cell phone behind when you left the office. But even that wouldn't have made any difference, I don't think. So stop trying to pull all the blame. I don't know why you have such a huge guilt complex, but it isn't necessary. Stop blaming yourself. That's an order."

Mike regarded him tiredly.

"Easier said than done, Captain."

Deakins nodded passively.

"I know, and I'll arrange for you to speak to someone as soon as possible about it. But right now, I just want you to rest, and be ready for that transfer to Mt Sinai on Sunday. Okay?"

Mike nodded, his eyes already starting to slide shut, exhausted as he was from the events of that evening.

"'kay…"

"You really mean that?" Carolyn asked softly once they were sure Mike was, indeed, asleep. "That he's not to blame for any of it."

"I really mean it," Deakins assured her. "He didn't do anything wrong, Carolyn. There's no crime in being in the wrong place at the wrong time and, ultimately, that's all this was. At least, as far as Bobby and Mike are concerned. They won't face any repercussions from this. I'll make sure of it personally."

Carolyn looked back at her sleeping partner.

"He's determined to blame himself for it."

"Well, hopefully Bobby will be able to convince him otherwise. Thank God he's going to be okay. I hate to think what state Mike would have been in if Bobby had died."

She looked grim.

"I think we might have needed to instigate a suicide watch."

Deakins sighed softly, but held back from verbally agreeing with her.

"Carolyn, I need to get going. I take it you're planning on staying here?"

She nodded wordlessly. He watched her thoughtfully for a minute before clapping her lightly on the shoulder and heading out. Carolyn waited until he'd gone, and the echo of his footsteps had faded before pulling a chair up close to the bedside and sinking into it. A moment later, the tears came in a flood, and she buried her face in her arms, and cried.

* * *

When Deakins walked back into the Major Case squad room just after 10pm that night, the first thing that caught his attention was the absolute quiet. He paused, just around the corner from the lifts, listening for the usual sounds that just weren't there. A frown creased his features. It was never this quiet on a Friday night. _Never_.

He ventured further in slowly, and it was just as he was coming into the bullpen that he heard it. Coming from around a far corner, from the one task room that Deakins knew was big enough to accommodate all the members of Major Case, was the low murmur of voices. Crossing the floor and peering cautiously around the corner, Deakins was treated to an eyeful.

Crammed into the task room was not only every detective belonging to the Major Case Squad, but also a good percentage of the civil staff.

What, he wondered, were they all doing? And then, realisation hit.

_Shit_, he thought, _I forgot to call them with the news about Bobby_…

Silently cursing his lapse, Deakins headed around the corner and into the room.

* * *

Silence fell very abruptly as the captain walked in, and it was all Deakins could do not to cringe under the sudden intensity of their grimly expectant stares.

"I'm sorry, all of you," he apologised. "I should have called you over an hour ago to let you know what's been happening."

"It's okay, sir," someone answered sombrely. "It… It's not like we didn't know what was coming. You warned us this morning, after all."

"So, it's over then?" someone else asked. "Goren's… you know… He's dead?"

Deakins could barely keep an idiotic grin off his face.

"No, Doyle. He's not."

A surprised murmur swept across the group.

"Stubborn son of a bitch," Oliver King commented wryly, and there was a ripple of weak laughter through the gathering. Deakins smiled faintly.

"You have no idea how right you are, King. You see, three hours after Goren's life support was switched off, he regained consciousness."

Stunned silence met Deakins' words.

"He… He's awake?" Craig Masterson asked, his voice radiating disbelief. "Goren's awake?"

Deakins looked around, making eye contact with as many of the men and women present as he could.

"Bobby Goren is awake. He is out of the coma, off life support, and he's going to be all right."

The cheer that went up was deafening, and it was all Deakins could do not to give in to temptation and throw his hands over his ears. It was as the noise died down, though, that his sharp ears picked up something far less pleasing.

"…thank God, he's gonna be okay."

"Yeah, no thanks to that mutt, Logan…"

"Who said that?" Deakins thundered, bringing an abrupt silence down on the room once more. Deakins looked around, suddenly furious. "Who just labelled Mike Logan a mutt?"

Eventually, Jared Baker spoke up uneasily.

"That was me, sir, but you've gotta admit, if it weren't for Logan, none of this would have happened in the first place!"

"What happened to Goren and Logan could just as easily happened to any one of you," Deakins retorted angrily, "anytime, anywhere. But I'll tell you what _would_ have happened without Logan. Goren would have died before we ever had a chance to get him out of that cage. It is because of Mike Logan that Goren is still alive." He paused as he looked around at them all, recalling the way that Bobby had sought out Mike after regaining consciousness. The way that Bobby had reached out for Mike, and Mike had responded without hesitation had been nothing short of heart-warming. They had done one better than the standard bonding, Mike had said. They had become friends.

"It's because of Mike Logan," Deakins went on with a forced calm, "that Bobby Goren was able to find the strength to wake up from the coma, and I'm not saying that out of sentimentality. For five days, we all tried everything we could think of, and Goren never responded, not even to Eames. We brought Mike in to say goodbye to him this evening, before the life support was turned off, and three hours later, Goren was awake. So as far as I'm concerned, Goren's recovery from the coma can be directly attributed to Logan. So, before any of you write Logan off over this, I suggest you all think very carefully about your attitudes. Because when Logan is eventually able to return to work, I will not tolerate him being treated badly or ostracised by anyone and, I think you'll find, neither will Goren."

"He really saved Goren's life?" someone asked.

"Yes, he did," Deakins confirmed. "You should all know, when Goren and Logan were ambushed and attacked last Friday night, Logan managed to break free, but Goren didn't. According to both Logan and the boy who witnessed the attack, Logan was able to get loose, but Goren was taken down, and pinned to the ground. Now, Logan could have run. He could have saved himself, and he would have been justified in doing so. But he didn't. He turned around, of his own free will, and went back. He let himself be taken down because he refused to abandon Goren. As far as I'm concerned, that alone makes him a hero, so do _not_ sit there, and condemn him until you know all the facts."

"We're sorry, Captain," someone said quietly, and there was a murmur of assent throughout the group. "We didn't realise."

"Now you do know," Deakins stated, pacified. "Now, listen up. We have a sketch of the man that led the attack on Goren and Logan. Jeremy, the boy that helped us find them, calls him Big Joe. I want as many of you as possible who can spare some time to start hitting your contacts. I want this piece of scum found, do you hear me? If he had the balls to do this to two Major Case detectives, then God know what else he might do."

"Would Goren and Logan be up to identifying this guy?" King wondered.

"Logan definitely would," Deakins answered, "but it may be a day or two yet before Goren will be in a sound state to be able to do that. But don't worry about that yet. Just find him. We'll worry about taking the next steps then. Let's go, people."

* * *

_tbc..._


	20. Developments

A/N: _The conversation between Deakins and Mack Taylor in this chapter was a deliberately planned scene that I have thought over very carefully. I have just not decided yet whether exactly what that is about will be made known at the end of this story, or at the beginning of the new story that I am already plotting. All I'm asking is that you keep that conversation in the backs of your minds, for later on._

_

* * *

_

_Two days later  
__Mt Sinai Hospital  
__Manhattan_

"Mike, please," Carolyn pleaded with her partner, trying at the same time to hide her growing frustration. "You've got to let them…"

"The hell I do," Mike snapped. "I've been poked and prodded for the last week. I've had a tube shoved down my throat, and been sedated at least three times that I know of. They can take their blood tests, and shove it up their asses! I'm not having another fucking needle stuck in me, unless it's loaded with morphine!"

"Detective Logan, we need these DNA samples," Detective Mack Taylor insisted, but Mike silenced him with a glare.

"You can't tell me that you can't get what you need from all the tests the doctors have done."

"No, we can't," Mack argued. "We need separate, uncompromised samples, so we can compare your DNA with the DNA that might have been left behind by the men who attacked you and Detective Goren."

"Why the fuck couldn't you get all that crap while I was out to it in St Barnabas? Why wait until now?"

Mack sighed softly. He'd anticipated reluctance on Mike's part, but not this outright stubborn refusal to cooperate.

"Because we needed your permission to get blood samples, and your doctor at St Barnabas wouldn't let us anywhere near you."

Mike grunted.

"Smart doctor."

"We need those samples so that when your squad locates a suspect for your assault, we have something for comparison. According to the boy that witnessed your abduction, you and Detective Goren were loaded into the trunk of a car. If we find the car, we may find samples of your DNA in the trunk. We just don't want to take any chances with this case, Detective. When Major Case nabs the guys that attacked you, we want to be able to just about bury them with rock-solid evidence. I want this case to be so damned tight that suffocates any possible defence."

Mike, however, was unmoved by Mack's plea.

"I'm touched," he muttered, looking away sourly. Carolyn groaned in frustration, then, unable to understand her partner's reticence.

"For God's sake, Mike, Detective Taylor isn't going to hurt you! Why can't you just let him do what he needs to do?"

Mike looked back at her slowly, and she was taken aback by the anguish in his green eyes.

"You just don't get it, do you? You say it won't hurt me, but you're wrong. It will. Right now, I _hurt_. There's not a spot on me that doesn't hurt. They only have to touch me with the tip of a needle, and it feels like I've been stabbed. Do you have even the slightest idea of just how much this IV in my arm hurts right now? My whole fucking body feels like it's on fire, and I don't mean that in a good way!"

"Hypersensitivity to pain, you mean," Mack murmured.

"Yeah, that's what Dr Harrison called it," Mike said bitterly.

Mack sighed again.

"Well, conceding the extreme trauma that your body has suffered, I'm not surprised. But it doesn't change the fact that we need these samples."

Miked stared at Mack, tired and distressed but fast losing the will to argue with the CSU detective.

"If I keep saying no, you'll just get a court order, won't you?"

"I'd rather not resort to that, Detective Logan," Mack told him quietly. Mike shut his eyes.

"But you will if you have to."

"Yes."

"Carolyn," Mike said softly, "why don't you take a walk… Maybe go to the cafeteria, and get me a coke?"

She stared down at him, unsure whether to be offended at his request. She took in the look of sheer misery on his pale face, and wavered on the side of understanding and compassion.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" she asked softly. "I will if you want me to."

"No," he murmured, though she thought his eyes told a different story. "Go on. I… I could really use that coke."

Still uncertain, Carolyn ruffled his hair affectionately before sliding off the bed and walking silently out of the room. Once she was gone, Mike looked back at Mack, and the nurse who stood near the door, waiting with a small tray of supplies.

"Okay," he said, not quite able to keep his voice even. "Do what you have to."

* * *

Carolyn was almost to the end of the corridor when Deakins rounded the corner, accompanied by a young boy. She managed a weak smile, and spoke before Deakins had a chance to.

"This must be the hero who helped to save Mike and Bobby."

Jeremy blushed violently and ducked his head shyly, much to the captain's amusement.

"Detective Barek, this is Jeremy. Jeremy, this is Detective Barek. She's Mike's partner."

Jeremy's head came back up to peer at Carolyn curiously through a wild mop of hair that flopped forward over his eyes. Deakins went on quietly.

"I brought him in to see Mike."

Carolyn's eyes widened a little.

"Actually, sir, this might not be the best time…"

Her words were cut off very abruptly by a stomach-churning scream of pain that shattered the quiet of the ICU wing. Jeremy gave a frightened wail at the sound, instinctively throwing his arms around the captain's waist, while Deakins turned the colour of ash and looked for all the world like he was going to be sick.

"What in God's name was that?" he asked hoarsely. Carolyn, he noted dimly, looked just as ill as he felt.

"That was Mike," she said softly, struggling valiantly to hide her tears. "Mack Taylor turned up to get blood and DNA samples from him… His body is hypersensitive at the moment…"

Jeremy inched away from Deakins, horror and dismay written all over his young face.

"What are they doin' to him?" he asked, his voice trembling audibly. "Sounded like they're killing him!"

"No, sweetie," Carolyn tried to reassure him, but before she had a chance to get a full sentence out, Jeremy suddenly broke away from Deakins' side and bolted down the corridor, towards Mike's room. Exchanging grim looks, Deakins and Carolyn hurried after him.

* * *

"Easy, Detective," Mack murmured, grimly conscious of the death grip that Mike had on his hand. "Just relax, now. It's over…"

"Fuck you," Mike hissed, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask that the nurse had gently secured over his face. His body was effectively locked in rigour, every muscle tensed and rigid as agonising pain coursed through him.

Mack ignored the expletive, waiting patiently for Mike to overcome the pain he was in. Gradually, he did so, slowly relaxing once more in his hospital bed, finally loosening his grip enough that Mack was able to reclaim his hand.

"I'm sorry, Mike," he apologised quietly as he began to prepare the samples for transport back to CSU. "But it really did have to be done."

Mike shuddered, and didn't answer. He was just about out of energy, and barely had the strength to keep his eyes open, let alone respond. Mack sighed inwardly and was about to go when a large mop of hair appeared around the open doorway.

"You lost, kid?" Mack asked, though not unkindly. Mike looked out of sheer curiosity, and was startled when he recognised the anxious face that peered at him from the safety of the doorway.

"Jeremy? That you…?"

Ignoring Mack, Jeremy ventured into the room and over to the bed, his large eyes looking at Mike searchingly.

"Hi, Mike."

Despite the pain he was in, Mike still somehow managed a weak smile.

"I hear I've got you to thank for saving my butt."

"I guess," Jeremy mumbled uncomfortably. His gaze skittered nervously up and down, taking in Mike's ragged appearance with more than a little trepidation. "You got hurt bad, huh?"

"Yeah," Mike mumbled, too exhausted and in far too much pain to put up any sort of a front for the benefit of the child. "I got hurt bad, kid. But I'm going to be okay. Maybe not right away, but I will be."

Jeremy hesitated, and started to reach for Mike's hand, only to gasp a little in fright as Deakins quickly reached out and caught hold of his wrist.

"No, Jeremy. Don't touch. You wouldn't mean to, but you'll only hurt him."

Jeremy pulled a face, but withdrew his hand with reluctance. He opened his mouth to speak again, only to discover that Mike had drifted into a light sleep.

"He's asleep," he said, disappointed. Deakins ruffled the boy's hair lightly.

"You said it yourself, Jeremy. He was hurt badly. He needs a lot of rest. You'll have another chance to talk to him, I promise."

Then, with a glance at Carolyn, Deakins turned to Mack.

"Detective Taylor, can I have a word with you outside, please?"

* * *

"All right," Deakins said tersely once they were away from the doorway of Mike's room. "What's all this about needing blood and DNA samples? You should have gotten whatever you needed from St Barnabas when Goren and Logan were taken there after being rescued."

"We did get what we needed," Mack agreed quietly, "for the case. I assure you, Captain Deakins, there is a good reason for taking new samples."

The look on Deakins' face by then had turned decidedly dangerous.

"I certainly hope so, Detective. Because if I thought for even a second that you put my detective through that sort of pain for no reason at all, I might not take too kindly to it. Do you understand me?"

Mack looked distinctly uncomfortable, Deakins noted with satisfaction as he waited for a reply.

"I understand, sir, and I assure you that it wasn't done unnecessarily. The thing is, something has shown up in the analyses we ran on both Detective Goren and Detective Logan's DNA. I needed to take fresh samples of DNA from both of them because I want to run a fresh analysis. I want to be a hundred and fifty percent positive that the result we got is true, and not a false result due to contamination, or a simple mix-up."

"What result?" Deakins asked, starting to feel confused, and more than a little unsettled. "What are you talking about?"

"Actually, sir, I'd rather not discuss it yet, if you don't mind…"

"I do mind," Deakins growled. "Anything concerning Goren and Logan's welfare at the moment concerns me. Now, spit it out, Detective. What is this about?"

Biting back a sigh, Mack reached into his jacket, and withdrew a single sheet of paper, handing it to Deakins. The captain examined it wordlessly for nearly a minute before finally lifting his gaze back up to meet Mack's eyes.

"Please, tell me this is someone's twisted idea of a joke."

"I wish I could, Captain, but it's on the level."

"So you believe it's for real."

"That's what I'm trying to determine with these new samples."

For a long moment, Deakins shut his eyes against a sudden oncoming migraine.

"All right. Who else knows about it?"

"Just my partner, and the tech that ran the analysis. Neither of them will say a word to anyone about it, I promise you."

"I hope not," Deakins muttered. "How certain are you that the original result is accurate?"

Mack looked almost apologetic as he spoke.

"Ninety-nine percent positive, sir. There's not much chance that it's wrong. But I have to double-check it regardless."

Deakins felt his stomach churn unpleasantly. God, he hoped it was wrong. He didn't think he'd ever hoped more fervently for anything in his life.

"All right, Detective Taylor. You'll contact me as soon as you know for certain?"

"Yes, I will. I promise you'll be the first to know."

Deakins nodded and, with a heavy heart, walked back into Mike's room without saying another word.

* * *

Carolyn raised an eyebrow questioningly as Deakins came back in.

"What was that all about?"

"Nothing," Deakins answered dismissively.

"Right," Carolyn retorted. "It sure sounded like nothing."

Deakins took the liberty of ignoring her, and focusing instead on Jeremy.

"Jeremy, did you want to go?"

The child looked over at Deakins plaintively. He'd perched himself precariously on the very edge of the bed, and had been watching over Mike in an almost protective manner.

"Do I have to go? I'd like to stay for a while, if I could."

The captain looked hesitant. "I need to get over to St Barnabas to work out getting Bobby transferred here to Mt Sinai. I won't be back for a few hours, at least."

"It's okay, sir," Carolyn told him. "Go ahead. Jeremy's fine here. I'll look out for him. We can keep each other company."

"All right," Deakins conceded, quietly grateful for Carolyn's offer. He'd already been reluctant to drag the little boy across the city, especially when it meant taking him back to the Bronx. He dared not take Jeremy anywhere that someone might recognise him. "I'll arrange for Detective Jackson to come and get you in an hour or so, okay, Jeremy?"

Jeremy nodded, pleased not to be leaving Mike's side so soon.

"Okay. Thanks, Jim."

Deakins smiled faintly.

"Okay, then. Barek, I'll call you in a couple of hours, to let you know what's happening with Goren."

She answered with an appreciative nod.

"Thankyou, sir."

* * *

Deakins hurried down the front steps of Mt Sinai, taking them three at a time. He was anxious to get over to St Barnabas, so that they could begin to facilitate Bobby's transfer from the Bronx to Mt Sinai, and he knew that he was not the only one. Alex, for one, was desperate to get her partner as far away from the Bronx as possible, and as quickly as possible, and he didn't blame her in the slightest.

Bobby, for his part, seemed to be anxious simply to be back within close proximity to Mike.

A wry smile fought its way onto Deakins' face. He was thoroughly bemused by the level of concern that both men were displaying towards each other. He would never in a million years have imagined that the likes of Bobby Goren and Mike Logan were capable of bonding like they had. He would never have imagined they were capable of becoming friends.

And yet, that was exactly what had happened. Their experience together inside the walls of the Staten Island prison a year ago had given them respect for each other, but this latest experience had brought them together as friends.

His smile faded. He could only hope that what had been uncovered by CSU's DNA analysis would not compromise their new-found friendship. He fervently prayed that it wouldn't.

Deakins had just reached his car when his cell phone began to ring. Frowning irritably, he answered it with reluctance.

"Deakins."

"_Captain, it's Jackson_."

"Jackson," Deakins greeted the detective. "I was going to call you. I need to you come by Mt Sinai in a couple of hours' time, and pick up Jeremy from ICU. I've left him here with Barek while I head over to St Barnabas."

"_Sure, Captain, no problem. But you might want to hold off on heading over to the Bronx just yet._"

"Why is that, Jackson?" Deakins asked, sounded a little more terse than he really would have liked. There was just a brief pause before the detective replied.

"_Sir, Doyle and Masterson just got back in, and they've brought Big Joey Baker in with them_."

Deakins' breath caught in his throat.

"Say that again, Jackson?"

"_Doyle and Masterson have arrested the son of a bitch that tried to kill Goren and Logan_."

Deakins let his breath out in a long hiss.

"I'll be there in ten."

* * *

_tbc..._


	21. Interrogation

A/N: _Someone mentioned in a review that they wanted to read more about Bobby, and my muse agreed. So we decided in this chapter to visit Bobby over in St Barnabas, and see how he's doing_…

* * *

Eight minutes later, Deakins was standing in the observation room between Interrogation Rooms One and Two, looking in at the hulk of a man who was currently conversing with his lawyer.

"That's Big Joe?" he wondered, barely able to hide his disgust and anger. Jackson nodded.

"Yeah, that's him."

"So how did Doyle and Masterson find him?"

"Doyle has a snitch that occasionally does business with members of the Masucci clan. The guy called him and tipped him off to this guy's whereabouts. Word on the street is that the Masucci family isn't happy about what happened to Goren and Logan. They probably wouldn't have given a damn ordinarily, but it happened right smack in the middle of their turf."

Deakins nodded wordlessly, recalling the conversation he, Carolyn and Alex had had with Alvin Barone more than a week ago, and Barone's reaction when Carolyn had mentioned someone else moving in on Masucci territory. It didn't surprise him in the slightest that the Masuccis had given this clown over to the police.

"We not only got this mutt," Jackson went on, oblivious to Deakins' reaction, "but they also tipped us off over where to find the car that was used to get Goren and Logan from the bar to the apartment block. CSU are going over it right now. It's going to be a while before we get solid results, but word is they've already found blood and hair samples in the trunk. Listen, Captain, Doyle and Masterson were the ones who brought him in, but they're willing to step aside and let Eames and Barek take over. After all, it's their partners who were nearly killed."

Deakins smiled faintly.

"I appreciate their consideration, but I'd feel better if they handle it. Eames and Barek are too closely involved to be able to remain objective, and a defence lawyer would be all over that like a rash. Secondly, I doubt we'd have any hope of getting them away from their partners."

"How _are_ Goren and Logan doing, anyway?" Jackson wondered.

"They're improving, slowly. Goren's finally stabilised enough now that they can transfer him from St Barnabas to Mt Sinai, which will be a big relief all around."

"Yeah, I don't doubt it," Jackson agreed. "When is the transfer going to happen?"

"It'll be either tomorrow, or the next day, whenever an air ambulance becomes available. They've decided to transport him to Mt Sinai by air, rather than road, to make it as smooth a ride as possible. He's stable, but getting jolted around in an ambulance could end up doing him more harm, and they don't want to risk further injury. I just need to get over there to sign the necessary papers, and they'll be good to go."

"And when they get him to Mt Sinai, what then? He and Logan going to be close to each other? You know that's all Goren asks, any time any of us have been to see him since Saturday? First thing out of his mouth, have we seen Logan, and how is he doing? And Logan's the same. I've been in to see him a few times, and every time I walk in, first thing he asks is how Bobby's doing. I'd swear, you'd think they were brothers, or something."

Deakins shot Jackson a strange look, but only shrugged.

"They went through a lot together, Jackson, and Logan saved Goren's life, more than once, but he's still blaming himself for what happened. I think Goren knows that, and he's worried about Logan's state of mind."

"You had a shrink in to talk to him yet?"

"Mm, yesterday. I tracked down Dr Olivet, and she went and talked to him for over an hour."

"Olivet, huh? Thought you might have brought in Huang from SVU."

"I thought about it. I even called Don Cragen to see if Huang could spare the time, but Cragen suggested I ask Olivet instead. He said she and Logan are well-acquainted with each other, and he trusts her about as much as he's likely to trust any shrink. At any rate, he didn't seem to have any problems opening up to her."

Jackson grunted wordlessly in response, his attention going back to the interrogation room, where their suspect appeared to have finished his parley with his lawyer.

"Looks like we're good to go, here."

Deakins' jaw tightened as his attention turned once more to the big man in the interrogation room.

"Is Carver here?"

"Yes. He's been preparing with Doyle and Masterson."

"Okay, Jackson. Tell them to get in there, and bury that son of a bitch so deep that he'll never claw his way out."

* * *

Joey Baker was nobody's fool. He might never have been the brightest spark around, but nor could anyone truthfully label him an idiot. So, when the cops knew exactly when and where to find him, he was under no illusions about who had ratted on him. He doubted it was any of the kids that he had under his thumb. Instead, he knew, without a doubt, that it was the Masuccis who had tipped the cops off.

He didn't deny that he was pissed off about it. After all, what had he done, except try to rid the streets of two pain-in-the-ass detectives – detectives who, by all accounts, had each caused the Masuccis a lot of grief in their time. It wasn't as though he'd been planning on taking over. He just wanted his little patch, and no cop was welcome in his territory, no matter what their rank.

Apparently, Carl Masucci felt differently.

He sat now, scowling at the table top and drumming his fingers rapidly on the smooth surface. The Masuccis had ratted him out, but he was still a long way from facing a prison sentence. Big Joey Baker had no intention at all of going to prison. He would kill with his own bare hands before that happened.

The door swung open, and the two cops who had arrested him walked in, followed by a suit that Baker assumed was their prosecutor. The suit sat calmly in one of the two chairs opposite him, while one cop took up the other chair and the second positioned himself in the corner, to the right of the mirror.

"Mr Baker," the seated cop spoke, "do you understand why you're here?"

Baker regarded him sullenly, but said nothing.

"My client understands he was arrested on some trumped-up charge of assault," the defence lawyer answered.

"There's nothing trumped-up about it," Carver said smoothly. "We have a witness who _will_ identify your client as the individual who not only instigated the assault on Detectives Goren and Logan, but who abducted them, and left them locked up in the basement of a building that was scheduled to be demolished within forty-eight hours. And that's not counting the identifications that will be made by the detectives themselves. Your client's goose is cooked, Mr Gates. His only option is to confess right here and now, if he wants to avoid the death penalty."

"My client didn't kill anyone, Mr Carver," Gates shot back. "Don't make threats you can't follow through on."

Carver was unperturbed.

"Mr Gates, Detective Goren and Detective Logan were both nearly killed, and I will be happy to let you see the medical reports that support that statement. Detective Logan went into cardiac arrest before the paramedics were able to get him to St Barnabas Hospital. Detective Goren was comatose, and on life support for nearly a week before regaining consciousness, and that in itself was nothing short of a miracle."

Gates snorted derisively.

"Save the dramatics for the courtroom, Mr Carver."

"I'm hardly over-dramatising," Carver said quietly. "And I can put several reputable witnesses from St Barnabas Hospital on the stand to testify to that. The bottom line is that your client will be facing charges of the attempted murder of two police officers, aggravated assault and grievous bodily harm, abduction of two police officers, wrongful imprisonment… The list goes on, Mr Gates, and the two charges of attempted murder alone carry a sentence of life without parole. Do you really think any judge _wouldn't_ place Mr Baker on death row for what he's done?"

"You can't prove I had anything to do with it," Baker said suddenly, ignoring Gates' warning to be quiet. "I've got two words for you, Mr Fancy Lawyer man. Reasonable doubt. I know what that is, and no jury is gonna convict me because of it."

Doyle grinned.

"For a smart guy, Joey, you're awfully dumb. Didn't you hear us? We have a witness who saw what you did to Goren and Logan. We have a witness who can identify _you_. Do you understand that, smart guy?"

"And we'll be able to produce ten witnesses to gainsay your one," Gates snapped. "Unless you have forensic evidence to support the charges, this case won't even get as far as arraignment."

Masterson moved forward slowly, then, his gaze focused on Baker.

"Tell me something, Joey. Did you spot Goren and Logan in the bar that night? Or was it just coincidence that you ran into them when they came out?"

"I wasn't anywhere near that bar," Joey said dismissively. "I've got people who'll back me up."

"Yeah, I'll bet," Doyle retorted. Masterson regarded Baker with just a hint of a smile.

"Which bar was it again, Joey?"

"O'Reilly's," Baker answered before Gates could stop him. Doyle and Masterson looked at each other in open amusement.

"And I thought this guy might actually have been a challenge," Doyle said with ill-suppressed laughter.

"What are you talking about?" Baker snarled, aggravated by their apparent mockery of him. Masterson sat down on the very edge of the table, an amused grin lighting up his eyes.

"We never mentioned the name of the bar, Joey. So tell us, how do you know which bar it was if you weren't there that night?"

For the first time, Joey looked worried, and sank down in his seat, glowering at the table top.

"You should know it doesn't take long for word to get around, Detective," Gates said coolly. "My client may not have been there on Friday night last, but he does frequent the establishment. He no doubt heard about what happened from the other regular patrons."

Doyle nodded.

"Uh huh. Right. Can't wait for the excuse you come up with when we find blood and DNA samples belonging to Goren and Logan in the trunk of your car."

Gates frowned darkly at Doyle.

"Don't speculate, Detective. It's not a good idea."

Masterson leaned in close to Baker, peering at him intently until the other man squirmed with obvious discomfort.

"It must have really pissed you off, huh? Seeing a couple of cops on your turf, acting like they owned the place. Did it piss you off?"

"Don't answer that, Joey," Gates warned him. Masterson ignored Gates, keeping his focus completely on Baker. He'd observed Bobby Goren in the interrogation room many times, and had been itching for a chance to try some of Bobby's techniques. He couldn't think of a better moment that right now, while interrogating the suspect who they believed was directly responsible for nearly killing Bobby and Mike.

"Would you care to get him out of my client's face, Mr Carver?" Gates asked coolly. Carver, however, ignored the request. He knew what Masterson was doing, and he had no intention of stopping him, unless the detective completely overstepped the line of protocol.

"I bet you though you could teach them a lesson," Masterson said, letting his voice drop a tone and keeping it deceptively gentle. "You probably figured that you could give them a reason never to set foot in your territory again. So what happened, Joey? Were you just going to take them somewhere for a beat down, and then let them go? 'Cause, you know, we'd understand that. They shouldn't have been there in the first place, should they?"

Baker shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing.

"So tell us what happened, Joey," Masterson went on. "Did they put up a fight? Maybe even hurt you, or one of your guys? Things got out of hand then, didn't they? You lost your temper, maybe… Shot them both in the leg, just to take the fight out of them. But then, you couldn't just let them go after that, could you? You needed to cover your tracks. So, you figured you'd dump them where no one would ever find them, in a building that was about to be demolished."

None of them missed the way Baker had begun to sweat by then.

"I wasn't there," he insisted hoarsely. Masterson allowed himself a small smirk.

"Of course you weren't. And when CSU runs a ballistics check on your gun, they won't find it's a match for the bullet in Detective Goren's leg. By the way, Joey, did you know that our CSU can lift a fingerprint off a bullet that's been fired?"

Baker turned green at that.

"Th… That doesn't prove anything…"

"A jury might think differently, Mr Baker," Carver said calmly. Gates laid a firm hand on Baker's shoulder, and then spoke tersely.

"You're clutching at straws, Mr Carver. Everything you've presented so far is either assumption, or purely circumstantial. You have nothing solid to hold him."

"Wrong, Mr Gates. We have the afore-mentioned witness, and we have the victims. I have no doubt that all three will positively identify your client."

"I'll believe you have a witness when I see them with my own eyes," Gates snapped. "Until then, I'll continue believing that you're bluffing in an effort to coerce my client into confessing. And as for the victims, I hardly think their words can be relied on as far as accurately identifying _anyone_ goes."

Doyle looked incredulous.

"Are you suggesting that two Major Case detectives are unreliable witnesses?"

"I'm suggesting, Detective, that there are a number of factors clouding any identification that your colleagues might make. Firstly, by their own admission apparently, they were coming out of a bar on Friday night. I'll wager they weren't exactly sober. Secondly, it was night time, and the lighting outside O'Reilly's Bar is less than adequate. As my client stated before, reasonable doubt. I don't think I'll have any problem planting the seeds in the minds of the jurors."

"Identification or not," Carver replied, ""by the time we get to trial, I guarantee we will have more than enough evidence to bury your client, and I _will_ be seeking the death penalty. As for your assertion that Detectives Goren and Logan will be unreliable witnesses on the stand, I think I ought to remind you of just who it is that you're up against."

"Meaning you?" Gates retorted sneeringly. Carver smiled his best shark-like smile.

"No, Mr Gates. I'm talking about Detective Goren. You _have_ come up against him before, haven't you? Three times, if I'm correct. You've seen how he operates. You know how good he is. Now, imagine him taking the witness stand, still in a wheelchair, and still with an attached IV and blood bag. The detective's injuries are grievous, Mr Gates, and very, _very_ visible. Personally, I think he'll make a very sympathetic witness. I strongly suggest you consider how the jury will react when Detective Goren identifies your client. And don't think you will be able to throw doubt on the validity of his testimony. Even grievously injured as he has been, I have no doubt that Detective Goren will still be able to run rings around you."

By that time, Gates was looking thoroughly sour as he realised the truth in what Carver was saying.

"All right, Mr Carver," he conceded with extreme reluctance. "What are you offering?"

* * *

"Wow," Doyle muttered a few minutes later as they watched from the observation room as Gates argued with Baker over the deal Carver had offered. "Baker looks seriously pissed."

Deakins chuckled grimly.

"Why wouldn't he be? When you started on him, he thought he was going to walk away from this. Now, he's facing a choice of taking a deal that will put him in jail for the rest of his life, or risk going to trial, and potentially receive the death penalty."

"Looks like Gates wants him to take the deal," Masterson mused.

"He'd be a fool not to," Carver said placidly, where he stood facing away from the viewing window. "Gates knows full well that we will have an advantage with the two detectives – an advantage that he can't hope to surpass, regardless of how many so-called witnesses he puts on the stand. No one will believe they're mistaken about Mr Baker's identity, and he knows it."

"Well," Doyle said with a wry smile, "even if he won't go for it, we still have one trump card to play. The snitch that told us where to find Baker said that the Masuccis are gunning for him. He was handed to us first as a courtesy because it was two of our own that he tried to kill. But word is that if Baker walks, even if it's just on bail, he's a dead man."

Deakins looked bemused.

"I think we all underestimated just how unkindly Carl Masucci would take someone encroaching on his family's territory."

"It's not so much that," Masterson explained. "Apparently this guy has been operating in that area of the Bronx for around twelve months now, but he's been strictly small time and the Masuccis haven't been bothered with him. He wasn't interfering in their business, and they left him alone. But Baker blew that right out of the water when he tried to kill Goren and Logan. The Masuccis have strict rules about hitting cops, especially cops from our neck of the woods. By doing what he did, Baker threatened to start an outright war, and that's the last thing Carl Masucci would want. According to our snitch, he is absolutely furious, and he wants this clown dealt with, one way or another. This is our only shot. If he walks out of this building, we won't get him back again, except as body parts on the ME's table."

Deakins nodded, watching piercingly as Gates finished speaking to a sullen-looking Baker and stood up to signal that they were ready for them again.

"Well, let's make sure that doesn't happen, for Goren and Logan's sakes. Counsellor…?"

Carver nodded, straightening his tie and jacket.

"Time for round two."

* * *

_St Barnabas Hospital_

Deakins arrived at Bobby's ICU room in St Barnabas to find Bobby half-sitting up in bed, listening tiredly as Alex read various news articles to him. She was sitting on the bed with him, balanced on the edge by his legs. As he walked in, Alex favoured him with a tentative smile, and once more Deakins reflected grimly that her trust in him had been severely damaged by his decision to allow Bobby's life support to be switched off. It was going to take a lot of effort on his part to regain that trust.

"How are you feeling, Bobby?" Deakins asked, taking some small relief in the genuine, if somewhat weary smile that he got from the recovering detective.

"Okay," Bobby answered softly. "Tired… but okay."

Deakins nodded in understanding. He didn't doubt that Bobby was still exhausted. His body had been driven beyond its limits of endurance, and it was going to take some time for him to recover.

"How's Mike? Have… Have you seen him today?"

For just a split second, Deakins recalled Jackson's wry comments about Bobby and Mike with some bemusement. It seemed he hadn't been wrong.

"He's doing okay, Bobby," Deakins reassured him. "Although, he's just as worried about you as you seem to be about him. But in a day or two, you won't need to worry any longer. You'll both be together at Mt Sinai, and then you'll be able to see with your own eyes that he's okay."

"He's not still blaming himself, is he?" Bobby asked. Deakins hesitated. He didn't want to lie to Bobby, but at the same time he couldn't see the benefit in telling him the truth. Ultimately, though, it didn't matter. Sick though he was, Bobby could easily read the truth in the captain's expression, and in his hesitation to answer.

"He is. Captain, it wasn't… wasn't his fault…"

Deakins laid a hand gently on Bobby's shoulder.

"I know that, Bobby. Everyone seems to have accepted that, except for Mike. I'm hoping that once you've been transferred to Mt Sinai, you might have some more luck than the rest of us have had in convincing him he's not at fault."

Bobby sighed faintly.

"I'll try… but he wouldn't believe me before. Probably won't now."

"Before when?" Alex asked. "When you were trapped together, do you mean?"

"Yeah. We… talked a lot… Wasn't much else we could do. He did some things… stupid things… partly because he was feeling guilty."

"What sort of things?" Deakins asked, leaning in against the edge of the bed. So far, Mike had been very tight-lipped about much of his and Bobby's ordeal, refusing to say anything about it to anyone. He'd apparently talked at great length with Elizabeth Olivet, but she'd refused to reveal anything out of doctor-patient confidentiality. It was understandable, but annoying as hell.

"He wouldn't stay still… wouldn't stay on the cot. I… I think that's how he ended up puncturing a lung. Kept getting up and moving around, trying to find a way out. And his hand… He tried to bust open the lock with his bare hands… It was stupid. It had been welded shut. He never had a hope." Abruptly, Bobby looked anxiously at Deakins. "His hand… How is his hand?"

"It's going to be okay," Deakins reassured him. "He'll need fairly extensive physio, but the doctors here are good. They repaired the nerve damage. He won't have impaired use."

The relief on Bobby's face at that news was palpable.

"Thank God," he whispered. Deakins paused, looking down at Bobby thoughtfully. He was almost asleep again. If he was going to tell him the news, it had to be now.

"Bobby, are you listening to me?"

Bobby's eyes flickered back towards Deakins. It was clearly a struggle for him to keep them open.

"Mm?"

"Doyle and Masterson got the guy who led the attack on you and Mike."

"You're serious?" Alex asked, startled. Deakins nodded.

"I am."

"Big guy?" Bobby asked, his voice barely more than a mumble. "Flat, ugly nose?"

Deakins smiled at the description.

"That's the one. We got him, Bobby, and I promise you he's never going to get out of prison."

Bobby's only response was a soft sigh as his eyes slid closed, and he slipped once more into an exhausted sleep.

"He can't seem to keep awake for more than fifteen or twenty minutes at the most," Alex said softly. "He just has no energy for anything."

"It'll come back to him, Alex," Deakins reassured her. "Think of how much he's been through. We have to be patient."

Alex shot him a look as she slipped off the bed and began to fold up the newspaper.

"You didn't want to be patient last week, when Dr Mackey wanted to turn off his life support."

Deakins grimaced.

"I'm not going to get into that argument with you, Alex. Not here. Not now. Let's just be thankful that he's still here, all right?"

Alex looked away from him, back to Bobby.

"I am thankful, believe me. It… It's really true? You got the guy who did this to them?"

"It's true. His name is Joey Baker. We got him, a full confession and a list of every man who took part in the assault."

Alex raised her eyes to him once more, her expression turning suspicious.

"What deal did Carver cut with him?"

"Life, without parole," Deakins assured her. "Carver told him and his lawyer flat that he either accepted a life sentence, or he'd take it to trial, and go after the death penalty. The only reason he put the offer on the table was to save Mike and Bobby the grief of having to testify, and also to protect Jeremy. So far, Baker has no idea about Jeremy, and I aim to keep it like that."

Alex returned her attention to her partner. If Carver had cut a deal that would put the son of a bitch in prison for life, then that was that, and there was no need to talk about it anymore. Instead, she turned the conversation to a subject that was a much more immediate concern.

"Bobby's worried sick about Mike. Every time someone comes in to see him, if he's awake, he'll ask them about Mike."

"I know. But I guarantee that once he's been transferred to Mt Sinai, that won't be necessary any longer."

"Why?"

"Because I've arranged for Bobby to go into a room in ICU with Mike."

Alex lifted an eyebrow questioningly.

"And the hospital staff went along with it?"

"They did, after I suggested it would be to both Mike and Bobby's benefit to keep them close together. It's an unusual situation, and calls for unusual solutions. I want them both to recover, Alex, and I suspect they'll only begin to recover properly when they're together."

Alex sighed softly.

"Thankyou. I… I'm sorry…"

He reached across the bed and gently took her hand in his in a fatherly gesture.

"Don't, Alex. Don't apologise for caring whether your partner lives or dies. I don't blame you for being angry with me. I think I might have been more worried if you weren't. I just want you to believe now that I didn't want to lose him anymore than you did. I was only doing what I believed Bobby would have wanted me to do."

Alex stared at their joined hands.

"Whether that's true or not… it didn't make it hurt any less, and if Bobby _had_ died…"

"I know," Deakins murmured as she withdrew her hand. "You wouldn't have been able to forgive me. I understand that, and I wouldn't hold that against you. But he _is_ going to be all right, and so will Mike."

He paused, wondering briefly whether he ought to tell her about the issue that had come up with the blood tests that CSU had run, only to immediately decide against it. She would have to be told, as would Carolyn but, firstly, it hadn't yet been confirmed by Mack Taylor. Secondly, the first people to be told had to be Mike and Bobby. Then, and only then, could he even begin to consider telling their partners.

"Captain?" Alex inquired, puzzled by his momentary exit from reality. "What is it?"

He shook his head, forcibly bringing himself back to the present.

"Nothing, Alex. I'm going to go and sign the papers to authorise Bobby's transfer to Mt Sinai. With any luck, by tomorrow evening Bobby will be back in Manhattan."

Alex nodded, visibly relieved at the prospect.

"Thankyou."

He offered her a wan smile, but nothing more as he turned and hurried away to do what needed to be done.

* * *

_tbc..._


	22. The Beginning of Healing

_The following night_

Mike was dozing restlessly, his sleep plagued by a steady stream of nightmare images. Carolyn sat by, watching in concern as he tossed and turned, and soft, distressed moans escaped from his bruised lips as he fought with the demons that tormented his subconscious.

She was about to wake him up when he awoke on his own, jolting upright with a strangled cry. Carolyn was there at his side in an instant, murmuring reassurances and gently wiping the sweat from his face with a cool cloth.

"It's okay," she murmured as he finally began to relax. "You're safe, Mike. It's okay."

Mike shuddered and slumped back down against the pillows, making no effort to hide his tears.

"Can't sleep for five friggin' minutes without nightmares," he whispered in distress.

"What was it about?" Carolyn asked. "Do you remember?"

"Same things," he answered miserably. "I keep dreaming that Bobby didn't… you know… didn't make it."

"Well, you can stop worrying yourself about that," a new voice stated quietly. "He's going to be okay."

Mike looked around, and was startled to see Alex standing there, on the other side of the bed.

"Alex…?" he asked in confusion. "Why are you here? How come you're not with Bobby?"

She smiled down at him warmly, and reached out to run her fingers lightly over his forehead, taking care not to touch the abrasions that were still all-too-visible.

"I am with Bobby. Look."

He looked past her, and his eyes widened a little at the sight of his colleague and friend in the bed next to his.

"How…? When…?"

"He was transferred by air ambulance late this evening," Alex explained. "Captain Deakins arranged it with the hospital staff for you to be together in the same room. He figured that maybe then you'd both stop worrying about each other, and start getting on with recovering."

Mike stared across at Bobby's sleeping form, confused.

"He's been worried about me…?"

"Worrying himself sick," Alex confirmed.

"But… why?"

"Because he cares about you, you big dope," Carolyn told him, "just like we do. And he knows you're still blaming yourself for what happened to the two of you, when you damn well shouldn't be."

Mike shut his eyes, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to block everything out.

"Who else is there to blame?" he asked hoarsely.

"How about blaming the son of a bitch who put us in the cage to begin with?"

Mike, Carolyn and Alex all looked around to find Bobby was awake, and watching them tiredly. Specifically, his attention was focused on Mike.

"Hey," Alex murmured, going over to her partner's side. "We didn't know you were awake. How are you feeling?"

Bobby didn't take his eyes off Mike as he answered.

"Pissed."

Mike started to look away, only to be stopped short by Bobby's voice.

"Don't, Mike. Don't you turn away from me. Don't you dare."

Slowly, reluctantly, Mike looked back at him. Then, still not releasing Mike from the visual hold he had on him, Bobby spoke softly to the two women.

"Could you both give us a couple of minutes? Please?"

Exchanging glances, Alex and Carolyn complied and silently left the room, leaving Mike and Bobby alone.

* * *

"Don't say it," Mike muttered sullenly as the door slid closed behind the women. "I don't want to hear it."

"You don't want to hear what?" Bobby asked, but Mike declined to answer.

Frustrated by Mike's reticence, Bobby pushed himself awkwardly into a half-upright position. It wasn't easy, given his right wrist was plastered, and his right shoulder was taped up, and he cringed visibly at the pain the movement caused.

"Hey, take it easy," Mike growled. "You go and bust a stitch open, or something, and your partner'll draw and quarter me."

Bobby shot Mike a bemused look.

"At what point did you become my keeper?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, all of a sudden you seem to want to be solely responsible for my wellbeing. Don't get me wrong, Mike. I appreciate the concern, I really do. But I'd like to know why you think everything that's gone wrong… or that could go wrong… is somehow your fault." He paused, drawing in a steadying breath before continuing on. "We've already been over this. What happened wasn't your fault. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Mike did look away, then.

"I wish I could believe that."

A dark look passed fleetingly over Bobby's face.

"Don't make me get out of this bed, Mike. Because I swear I'll come over there and throttle you myself if you don't get over this guilt trip you're on."

"I don't understand how everyone can be so damned easy-going about it!" Mike exploded. "Look at us! We nearly got blown up, for God's sake! If I hadn't hauled you off to that bar…"

"Hauled me?" Bobby cut in incredulously. "_Hauled_ me? Logan, you couldn't haul me anywhere if your life depended on it! Get it through your thick head that I went with you willingly. It was _my_ choice. Why can't you accept that you're not responsible for the choices I make? Just like I'm not responsible for yours. Damn it, we're friends, Mike. Not brothers. We aren't exclusively responsible for each other like that."

Mike looked over at Bobby, his eyes red and swollen with unshed tears.

"So tell me, Bobby, how do I stop feeling like I am?"

Bobby's momentary anger faded as rapidly as it had blossomed. That was it, ultimately. That overwhelming feeling of guilt was eating away at Mike like a cancer, and neither had a practical answer for what to do about it.

"What do you want, Mike?" Bobby asked softly. "Do you want Deakins to rip into you? Do you want me to say it's your fault? That I hate you for it? What do you want?"

"I don't know," Mike whispered, struggling to speak around the painful lump that had formed in his throat. "I… I just don't know."

"Because I can't say any of that," Bobby went on. "I can't say what I don't believe, and I don't believe you're at fault. And I don't hate you. If anything, I'm grateful."

Mike couldn't help but look disbelieving.

"Grateful? For what? Almost getting us both killed?"

"You idiot," Bobby said with a sigh. "What did you do, just block out everything that happened while we were in that cage? You looked out for me, Mike. The whole time we were there, you did everything you could to help me, and I won't accept that you did it all out of guilt. That's just bullshit."

As much as he wanted to, Mike couldn't bring himself to argue. Bobby was right. His efforts while they'd been trapped had not been purely out of guilt, but rather out of genuine concern for Bobby's wellbeing. Still, that knowledge did nothing to help clear his besieged conscience.

"I… I just can't keep myself from thinking that if I hadn't suggested that we go to a lousy bar all the way out in the damn Bronx, then none of this would have happened."

"That's not something I can answer for sure one way or the other," Bobby said softly. "But even if it is true, it doesn't automatically make you guilty. If you'd done something to draw attention to us… given away that we were cops… then maybe I'd agree with you. But you didn't. Neither did I. We were there for a drink, and that was all. And you said it yourself. You'd been going there regularly in the time you were on Staten Island, and you'd never had any problems. You had no cause to think there'd be problems that night, either. Can't you try to accept that?"

As he spoke, Bobby could feel what energy he still had literally seeping from his body. It wouldn't be long before he was out again, and he was desperate to make Mike understand him, and accept his words.

"What do I have to say to get it through your thick skull?" Bobby wondered, as much to himself as to Mike. For a minute or so, silence reigned between them. Then, finally, Mike began to speak again.

"I… I have a history of getting my partners hurt… or killed."

Bobby looked over at him, an eyebrow raised in an unspoken question. Mike went on unsteadily as years of carefully stored guilt finally found a voice.

"My first partner… at the Two-Seven… He was shot dead outside his own home, right before he was due to testify before a grand jury. He was killed with his wife watching. I nearly blew that investigation right out of the water, too. I tracked down the guy who killed him, and I forced a confession out of him at gunpoint. It took a hell of a lot of tap-dancing by the ADA to get around it… but I was just a stupid kid back then. My next partner… Ceretta… He got shot point blank during a sting. I was right in the next fucking room when it happened, and I didn't do a goddamn thing."

"Didn't," Bobby queried, "or couldn't?"

Mike looked at him blankly.

"What do you mean?"

"You said you were in the next room. Did you have video feed? Sound?"

Mike gave a short, bitter laugh.

"Bobby, this was the Two-Seven, nearly fifteen years ago. We hadn't even heard of video feed back then, and having sound meant strapping a friggin' tape recorder to your chest."

Bobby smiled faintly. He well remembered those days from early in his career as a cop.

"How much could you hear?"

"Not a lot. I didn't know things were going south until I heard the gunshots. And even then the bastard would have gotten away if Phil hadn't grabbed him as he went down."

"Was he killed? Your partner, I mean."

"No. It was close, but no. But he never went back out on the streets again. Took a cushy desk job that paid twice as much. You know… he was the only one that I didn't mind if he called me Mikey. Greevey used to, and so did Cragen, and it used to piss me off royally… but I got my own back with Cragen. I took to calling him Donnie. He hated that."

Bobby laughed softly.

"I'll bet he did."

"But with Phil… I don't know. It just didn't seem like an insult, coming off his lips. It hurt when I lost him as my partner, even more than losing Greevey… and Phil was still alive."

"He was like a father-figure to you?" Bobby mused. Mike smiled crookedly at the description.

"Yeah. I hadn't really thought about it like that, but yeah. I guess he was. Man, I loved that guy. When he told me in the hospital that he wouldn't be coming back as my partner, I felt so damn betrayed. And then, later, I started thinking about all the ways it was my fault. How if I'd done this or that differently, then Phil wouldn't have been shot, and we would have still been partners."

"We always feel responsible for the people we care about," Bobby said quietly. "I feel responsible for Eames, and I know she's the same with me. It's not just something that comes from being partners. It's a responsibility of one close friend to another. But things happen that are beyond our ability to control. Bad things happen, and most times we can't stop them. And as far as I'm concerned, hindsight is only good for sending ourselves on major guilt trips. We can't always stop bad things from happening, Mike. Can you accept that logic?"

Mike considered it for a moment before responding.

"Yeah… I guess so."

"We probably could alter our fates… if we knew what was coming. But we don't. We can't see into the future. Hell, most of us can't even anticipate what's around the next corner. Did you have even a clue that your first partner… Greevey, was it? That he might have been in danger?"

Mike shifted uncomfortably.

"No," he admitted, with some reluctance.

"And Cerretta. Did you have any reason to think that he couldn't handle the situation he was in?"

Mike felt the strange, discomforting sensation of his long-held guilt complex steadily being de-constructed.

"Well… no…"

"And did you anticipate at all that we might have ended up in trouble by going to that bar?"

"No," Mike conceded, looking defeated. Bobby sighed a little and settled back down in the bed.

"I think, if this was before a jury, you'd be getting a definite 'not guilty' verdict."

Mike stared at Bobby, slightly dazed by the speed and skill with which the many years of harbouring a guilty conscience had been effectively dismantled by his colleague.

"I would hate to be the subject of one of your interrogations," he said finally, ruefully. Bobby smiled with more than a hint of satisfaction.

"Eames said the same thing the first time she watched me interrogate someone."

"Yeah, and now I know why."

Bobby watched Mike through half-closed eyes. It was clear that he was losing the battle to stay awake.

"We were victims of circumstance, Mike. Can you accept that?"

Mike drew in a long breath. Could he? Accepting that truth meant accepting his own blamelessness. Could he do that…? It only took a moment for him to realise that yes, he could.

"Yeah," he whispered, "I think I can."

"And you understand that I can't say I forgive you, because you've done nothing wrong that needs forgiving."

Mike swallowed hard.

"I understand."

"And you can accept it?"

"Yeah," Mike murmured after a moment's consideration and, as he answered, he felt the knot that had been in his chest since the start of their ordeal finally loosen and dissipate altogether.

"Good," Bobby murmured with a sigh, settling down further and letting the exhaustion wash over him. Mike watched Bobby for a while, speaking only when he was sure that his friend was asleep.

"Thanks, Bobby."

He was just settling down himself when he heard Bobby respond in a sleep-laden mumble.

"Welcome… Mikey."

A grin lit up Mike's face, the likes of which he hadn't let through his tough-guy image for a long time. Chuckling softly to himself, he settled down in his bed, and let sleep overtake him once more.

* * *

"You think they've had long enough?" Carolyn wondered nearly ten minutes later. Alex shrugged. She was anxious to know what was going on, but at the same time she was loathed to interrupt, in case they were still hashing things out. More than anything, she wanted Mike's guilt issues to be resolved so that both he and Bobby could get on with concentrating on their respective convalescences.

She was still trying to decide whether or not to look in on them when Deakins rounded the corner, paused and then strode up to them with a puzzled look on his face.

"Why are the two of you out here? Why aren't you with your partners?"

"Bobby asked for a few minutes to talk to Mike alone," Alex explained. "That was ten minutes ago."

Frowning a little in concern, Deakins walked over to the door and pushed it open. A moment later, a smile broke out on his face.

"Come and take a look at this, both of you."

Alex and Carolyn ventured into the room to find both Mike and Bobby sound asleep, neither one disturbed by nightmares, at least for the moment. Mike, to the surprise of all three of them, had a very distinct smile on his face.

"Look at him," Carolyn murmured as she walked around to take in the sight of her apparently peacefully sleeping partner. "Even when he's sleeping, he still manages to look like the cat that ate the canary."

Deakins looked from Mike to Bobby, a satisfied look on his face.

"Well, from the looks of it, Bobby finally got through to him. I hope he did, at least."

"I think he did," Carolyn said, sounding relieved. "Mike hasn't looked this peaceful and relaxed since he first woke up in St Barnabas."

Alex shook her head.

"It's amazing."

"What is, Alex?" Deakins asked.

She stood between the two beds, looking from one man to the other, a sad smile on her pale face.

"When Bobby was dying, it was only Mike who was able to bring him back to us. When Mike was deteriorating emotionally, it was only Bobby who was able to bring him back from the edge. Neither of them wouldn't listen to anyone, except each other. Considering Bobby's trust issues, I guess you could say that I'm kind of surprised."

"Well," Deakins murmured, "if Bobby hadn't been able to break through to Mike, I had one last card to play. Mike has no idea just how wrong he was when he tried to take the blame for all of this."

"How do you mean?" Alex asked, frowning. Deakins motioned to the doorway, urging them out into the corridor before continuing on.

Jackson and King picked up a couple of Baker's lackeys a few hours ago. I came straight here after they finished interrogating one of them. Alex, does the name Christian Baker mean anything to you?"

"He was a child rapist and killer," Alex confirmed. "Bobby and I nailed him after he killed his fifth victim. He went to prison for life, and was beaten to death within a couple of months."

"Christian Baker was Joey Baker's older brother," Deakins said quietly. Alex sucked in her breath sharply.

"Oh god… So… You're saying…"

"It _was_ a premeditated attack," Deakins told them softly. "There was nothing random about it, but it wasn't Mike who was the target. One of the two mutts that were picked up today made a full confession. He told us that Joey Baker had been planning this for a couple of months. He was on orders to stake out One Police Plaza on Friday afternoon and watch for Bobby and you to leave."

"_Me_ and Bobby?" Alex exclaimed in horror. Deakins nodded.

"The entire thing was very carefully planned out, apparently. Except, it was never meant to be Bobby and Mike. It was supposed to have been _you_ and Bobby, Alex. Apparently, when Mike and Bobby left One Police Plaza on the Friday night, they were followed all the way to the Bronx. As soon as they went into the bar, this mutt that had the job of following them called Baker, and the gang assembled outside the bar and waited. As soon as Mike and Bobby left, the sons of bitches pounced."

"So the whole thing was retribution for Baker's older brother?" Carolyn asked, and Deakins nodded.

"That's right. It wouldn't have mattered where they went that night. The attack would have happened regardless. Mike's choice of location had absolutely nothing to do with it."

"Well, that might make Mike feel better," Alex said bitterly, "but it's going to send Bobby on one hell of a guilt trip."

"No, it won't," Deakins said firmly. Alex raised an eyebrow at him.

"What are you going to do? Just decide not to tell them? You know Bobby. He'll find out sooner or later."

"I'll tell them," Deakins assured her. "But I'll let Mike deal with Bobby if he decides to guilt trip over it. I have a feeling Mike will be able to deal very adequately with him in that happens."

Carolyn had to smile at that.

"I think you may be right, Captain."

Alex sighed softly, dropping into a nearby chair and burying her face in her hands.

"So it really was nothing that either Mike or Bobby did that caused this."

"Not unless you count doing their job as provocation for attempted murder," Deakins stated. "Neither of them are to blame, not one iota."

"Please," Alex whispered, tears abruptly filling her eyes, "tell me Baker's never going to see daylight again outside prison walls?"

"The deal is done," Deakins confirmed. "He'll never be paroled. And his lackeys are all looking at twenty-five to life, as well. They'll never be able to hurt Bobby or Mike again. Or anyone else, for that matter. Your partners are safe."

"Thank god for that," Carolyn murmured. Deakins motioned back at the door of the ICU room.

"Let's go back in. When they're both awake again, we'll tell them the news, _together_."

Carolyn headed back in without a word, but Alex paused in the doorway, looking up at Deakins with a mixture of weariness and gratitude.

"Thankyou," she said softly. Puzzlement flickered in the captain's eyes.

"For what, Alex?"

She sighed, and shook her head.

"That's the stupid thing. I don't really know."

He smiled warmly at her, and was heartened by the smile he got in return.

"Well, in that case, you're welcome."

* * *

_tbc..._


	23. The Calm Before The Storm

_A/N: _This is officially the last chapter of this story. I kind of surprised myself with the abrupt way I've ended it, but I intend for it to leapfrog immediately into the next story. For anyone who hasn't worked out the mystery news by the end of this chapter - sorry. You'll have to wait for the first chapter of the new story, which I hope to have posted middle of next week.

_

* * *

_

_A few weeks later_

"The Sheraton?" Mike queried as the SUV pulled up in front of the luxury hotel. Deakins smiled wryly where he sat in the driver's seat.

"No expense spared."

"You seriously expect us to believe the brass are footing the bill for this?" Mike asked. Beside him in the backseat, Bobby smiled faintly, but said nothing.

After three weeks of driving both the doctors and the nurses literally up the wall, Bobby and Mike had finally been given the thumbs up to leave the hospital. Or, more to the point, Mike had been given the thumbs up. Bobby's doctor would have much preferred to keep him there for at least another week, but Mike had threatened to stay as well unless they were allowed to go home together.

After weighing the pros of keeping Bobby Goren under medical supervision for another week against the cons of having Mike Logan creating havoc with the hospital staff, it had been emphatically decided to let them both go home. And, given their antics over the past couple of weeks, Deakins hadn't been the least bit surprised by the decision.

In retrospect, it was actually pretty damned funny, although the hospital staff were divided in their opinions as to the level of hilarity that was warranted by the stunts pulled by the two detectives. Though Deakins himself would never have shown any hint of approval or amusement to their faces, he had to confess to privately being highly amused by what had gone on.

Within days of Bobby's transfer from St Barnabas in the Bronx to Mt Sinai in Manhattan, the doctors and nursing staff had begun to encourage both men to get up and start moving around, something they were each able to do with the aid of a simple cane. It was encouragement that the staff would sorely regret giving.

From the moment that both Mike and Bobby had been able to walk to the lifts at the far end of their ward, they had caused no end of trouble for the ward staff. Several times over the last two weeks, Deakins, Alex and Carolyn had arrived to visit them, only to find them gone from their beds and the ward staff without a clue as to their whereabouts.

Three times, the errant detectives had been found goofing around with the kids in the children's ward. Once, they'd found Bobby tucked away in a corner of the rooftop garden with a book that Alex had brought in for him, while Mike snuck into the Oncology wing and was caught chatting up a young woman who was in the middle of chemotherapy.

Twice they'd been discovered in one of the two hospital rehab gyms, throwing palm sized beanbags and medicine balls at each other from across the floor, much to the amusement of the staff who discovered them there. And once, in an incident that very nearly saw them both restrained to their beds, they nearly took out two nurses and another patient while staging a wheelchair race down the long corridor of their ward. As it was, Bobby's plastered wrist and slowly-healing dislocated shoulder caused him to lose control of the wheelchair, sending it over and tipping him very unceremoniously onto the cold floor.

Deakins later discovered that one of their fellow Major Case detectives had thoughtfully sent them a copy of the movie _Days of Thunder_ to watch, and they'd gotten the idea from that. It had been extremely difficult to keep a straight face while lecturing the detective in question about appropriate choices in entertainment for two hospitalized men who were developing an increasingly notorious reputation for trouble-making.

Needless to say, their respective doctors had been furious and angry threats of restraints and forced sedation had ensured placid behaviour from them both… for all of two days.

Then, in what was considered the worst infraction by the hospital staff, and possibly the funniest by their fellow detectives, just four days ago Mike and Bobby had vanished from the hospital altogether. Their disappearance sparked a panicked search, first of the hospital and then of the surrounding city blocks. Over a dozen uniforms from two nearby precincts were pulled in to look for the wayward detectives.

When they still hadn't been found after more than two hours, and Deakins was just starting to seriously consider putting out an APB on the two of them, they were finally located half a block away from the hospital at Starbucks. A young probationary officer collecting coffee for himself and his senior partner stumbled across the two of them tucked away in a dark corner of the café, enjoyingmocha lattes and cake, compliments of the very amused Starbucks staff.

They'd had to suffer through several lectures upon arrival back at their room in the hospital, not the least of which had been from their captain, who had given them both a dressing-down that had left their ears well and truly smarting. The sting of his lecture had been dulled considerably, though, by the sound of Deakins exploding with laughter halfway down the corridor on his way out.

Their doctors had been less amused by their antics, and it had taken much pleading and many promises on Bobby and Mike's part to avoid being physically restrained and locked in their room.

Even then, though, nothing compared to the ferocity of the anger from their partners, both of whom had been just about out of their minds with fear that something had happened to the two of them. The barbs delivered by Alex and Carolyn left Bobby and Mike feeling sheepish, to say the least, but neither detective understood just how deeply upset their partners were until they awoke the next morning to find themselves handcuffed to their beds. After twenty-four hours of being spoon-fed like babies, sponged down by the male nurses and having to pee into a cup in lieu of using the bathroom, and Bobby and Mike effectively lost the will to play truant again.

The day after that, though, their remorse was dimmed somewhat when two of their Major Case colleagues snuck in a lavish dinner of steak and potato for each of them, in appreciation of the entertainment Mike and Bobby had been providing everyone with back at the squad. They'd told them that a chart had been posted in the bullpen to keep track of each and every stunt they pulled and, when they disappeared the previous day, bets had actually been laid on how long it would take to track them down. Carl Hallon had won with the estimated time of one hour and fifty minutes, and had suggested the money go towards doing something nice for Mike and Bobby. Hence, the steak dinners.

Petersen and King left with a parting hint that they were all eagerly awaiting the next instalment in Mike and Bobby's extra-curricular adventures. Unfortunately for all, it was at that point that the decision was made to expedite their discharge from the hospital.

And so, now they were finally going home. Admittedly, it was to mandatory bed rest, and Alex and Carolyn had both volunteered to ensure their respective partners did exactly as they were supposed to. But it was still home, and both men were more relieved by the prospect than they were able to fully express. Considering there had been a point where neither had thought they would ever see home again, any conditions set on their homecoming seemed negligible in their eyes.

First thing was first, though, and now it was time for a visit that Deakins had promised them in return for solemn promises from both not to pull anymore 'dumb ass stunts'.

"When the Chief of Detectives got the full story… and I do mean the _full_ story, he was willing to put Jeremy up pretty much anywhere I suggested," Deakins explained in answer to Mike's query about the choice of hotel.

"Full story?" Bobby queried, and Deakins nodded.

"Yes. The full story in that you two were followed from One Police Plaza that night. And that it was a fully pre-meditated attack _and_ that you both would have died if Jeremy hadn't had the courage to come forward."

"Hey, have you had any luck find the kid's aunt?" Mike wondered, swiftly changing the subject as they made their way into the hotel. Deakins nodded, glancing curiously at Mike. He'd suspected that Mike, at least, and probably Bobby as well, were finding it difficult to confront their brush with death. Mike's most unsubtle change of topic only confirmed his theory.

"Jackson finally tracked her down yesterday. She's married again, but apparently she and her husband are both willing to welcome Jeremy with open arms… especially after Jackson explained everything to them. They're flying here tomorrow to get him."

Mike sighed faintly, recalling the last time he had tried to help Jeremy to escape a nowhere life on the streets.

"I hope it works out for the kid this time."

"We all do, Mike," Deakins agreed softly.

* * *

Deakins took them up to the fourth floor of the hotel, and ushered them into a suite at the end of the hallway.

"So he's been shut up in here for nearly three weeks?" Mike asked incredulously.

"Yes," Deakins conceded, "but not on his own. It didn't take long for the story to get out, and since then there's been no shortage of cops offering to take a shift to keep him company. That little boy is a hero in the eyes of the NYPD, and he's being treated accordingly."

The sound of their entry had not gone unnoticed, and a small head appeared, poking out from the sanctuary of the bedroom. A moment later, the young face lit up, and Jeremy bounded out to them.

The physical change in the child was astonishing. He was clean, wearing new clothes that actually fitted him properly, and his unruly hair had been cut and brought under control. He no longer looked emaciated, after three weeks of three healthy meals a day, as well as the many treats that various officers brought in for him as thanks for so bravely helping two of their own.

"Mike!" Jeremy shouted, charging across the spacious floor to the three men. "You're outta the hospital!"

Mike couldn't hope to hide the grin on his face, and he didn't even want to try. Ignoring the way his healing body protested, he crouched down and caught the child up in a huge hug.

"Yeah, buddy, we are. We're gonna be fine, thanks to you."

"Jeremy," Deakins told him quietly, "this is Bobby. He's the other police officer that you helped to save."

Still clinging fiercely to Mike, Jeremy looked up at Bobby with a shy smile.

"Hi, Bobby."

Bobby smiled warmly as he crouched down awkwardly to be at eye level with the child.

"Hi, Jeremy." He paused, and finally said the first thing to come to mind. "Thankyou… for helping us. You took a big chance… put yourself at risk… and you saved our lives."

Jeremy blushed furiously at the gentle praise and gratitude.

"Why don't we go and sit down?" Deakins suggested. He didn't add 'before you both fall down, and can't get up again', but neither Bobby nor Mike missed the underlying meaning in his words. Exchanging rueful smiles, the detectives pushed themselves up with some difficulty, and the four of them retreated to the sofa and armchairs.

"You looking forward to meeting your aunt tomorrow?" Mike asked, quietly touched at the way Jeremy climbed onto the sofa beside him and effectively snuggled in against him.

"Sort of," Jeremy answered. "I'm kinda nervous. She got married, you know."

"We heard," Mike confirmed. "But I bet you'll get along fine if you just give them a chance."

Jeremy nodded.

"I know. _And_ behave myself, _and_ follow all the rules."

The three men chuckled at the child's affectation.

"It might not be an easy transition," Bobby mused, "but if you ever feel frustrated, like there are too many rules, just remind yourself of what life was like on the streets."

Again, Jeremy nodded.

"Yeah. It could be cool sometimes, but mostly it was just lonely, and scary. I don't want to go back to that again. I want a home, a proper home. I'll follow all the rules, even if some of them are dumb."

Mike smiled affectionately at the child, ruffling his hair lightly and giving him a quick hug.

"Attaboy."

After a moment, Jeremy drew back a little from Mike and spoke tentatively, looking from Mike to Bobby with an nervous gaze.

"What was it like?"

Mike and Bobby exchanged uneasy glances. Although they both hoped they were mistaken, they were fairly sure that they knew what he meant. Deakins was no help. He sat there in silence, watching the two of them intently to see how they would respond to the innocent question.

"What was what like?" Bobby asked, struggling to keep his voice even, and quietly hoping Jeremy didn't mean what they thought he did.

"Being in that cage… In that building. Were you scared?"

Again, the two detectives exchanged looks. Then, Mike let out in a rush a breath that he hadn't even been aware that he'd been holding.

"Yeah, kid," he answered softly. "We were scared."

"Did you know what was gonna happen? Did you know the building was gonna be blown up?"

The questions were meant innocently enough, but that didn't make it any less painful for either man. And still Deakins stayed silent, waiting for them to answer the child.

"We knew," Bobby confirmed, and Deakins detected the slightest tremor to his voice. "We saw an explosives pack… We knew."

"Did you try to get out?"

Mike looked down at his right hand, which was still thickly bandaged. It hurt badly, and constantly, but he took some comfort in the pain. As his doctor at Mt Sinai had assured him, if it was hurting, then it was healing. He still didn't know whether he would regain full use of it, but the specialist seemed certain that any impairment would be minor, and wouldn't affect him returning to his job in Major Case.

"Yeah," he said finally, hoarsely. "We tried to get out. We tried hard, but we were locked in good."

"I would'a been scared," Jeremy admitted. "But at least you weren't alone."

Bobby and Mike looked at each other once more, and this time there was an expression on their faces that Deakins couldn't quite pinpoint. Mutual respect? Definitely. Friendship and understanding? Beyond any doubt. But there was something more, something deeper, and he just wasn't sure what it was.

"I had a friend once," Jeremy went on, oblivious to the looks exchanged between the men. "We got stuck in the back of this truck together, and it was really cold. It was a big refrigerator truck. We thought we were gonna die, you know? We got let out after a while, but we'd been so scared. My friend… he said when two people go through something like that together, when they're really scared and they think they're gonna die, that they become blood brothers. That's what you two guys are. You're blood brothers!"

At that moment, Deakins had been taking a mouthful of water, and when Jeremy made that exclamation, he choked. His eyes watered painfully as water shot up into his sinuses, and caught in his throat, and he gagged for a long moment, unable to breathe, until a strong hand thumped him solidly on the back, releasing the breath that had been fighting to get out.

"Captain?"

It was Bobby, sounding both concerned and suspicious.

"I'm okay," he gasped, taking another sip of water to try and stem the painful coughs that forced their way out of his body.

"Something wrong, Captain?" Mike asked, and Deakins thought he could hear the same suspicious note in his voice that was in Bobby's. He had no cause to be surprised. His reaction had been just a little too abrupt and, dare he add, violent.

_Damn_, he thought as he came back to himself, and got an eyeful of the looks that both detectives were giving him. They were both going to want to know what was going on now. _Damn_…

"You okay, Jim?" Jeremy asked, the sound of his innocent query bringing them all back to reality. Making a deliberate effort at ignoring the detectives, Deakins favoured Jeremy with a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine. It just went down the wrong way." He stood up, and forced himself to look directly at Bobby, and then at Mike. "I have a few phone calls to make. I'll come back for the two of you in an hour or so."

Then, he strode out of the hotel suite without looking back.

Mike and Bobby stood in the middle of the floor, similar looks on each of their faces in the wake of Deakins' abrupt departure.

_What the_…

"You guys wanna order room service?" Jeremy asked enthusiastically. "We don't have to pay for it."

Blinking and coming back to reality, Mike swatted Jeremy lightly across the head, drawing a giggle out of the child.

"What have you been ordering, you little monkey?"

"Just ice cream," Jeremy insisted. When both men fixed sceptical looks on him, he smiled sheepishly. "I get hungry in the middle of the night."

Mike snorted. "That's one bill I'm glad we're not responsible for."

Bobby smirked. "I'd love to be a fly on the wall when Deakins hands the account in."

"You're on your own there, pal. I don't want to be anywhere near the place when _that_ volcano erupts."

Jeremy tried to look repentant, but didn't quite succeed.

"I guess I shouldn't have done that, huh?"

"Don't worry about it, kid," Mike reassured him. "No one's going to complain about it."

Jeremy nodded, appeased, and flopped back onto the sofa. After a moment, Mike and Bobby sat down again as well.

"You know, Jeremy," Bobby said quietly after a long moment of quiet, "you weren't wrong."

"About what?" Jeremy asked.

"About me and Mike. The… the bit about us being…"

"Blood brothers," Mike finished off when Bobby faltered, struggling to put his thoughts into words. Bobby nodded.

"Yes. We… We went through a lot… and we didn't really know each other very well before it happened…"

"But you're friends now, right?" Jeremy asked eagerly.

Mike grinned, first at Jeremy, and then at Bobby.

"Yeah, kid. We are. And thanks to you, we're both alive to be able to enjoy it."

"I'm glad," Jeremy declared.

"Jeremy," Bobby asked tentatively, "can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Bobby," he answered cheerfully. Mike, however, shot Bobby a concerned look. He knew that tone of voice. It was the same tone Bobby had used when he asked Gina to tell them in the prison what the wardens had done to the prisoners. He made no effort to stop his friend, but he kept a close watch to see where Bobby was headed.

"You saw what happened to us on the Friday night?"

Jeremy nodded.

"Yeah. I saw Big Joe and his guys beat you up."

"But you didn't talk to the police until Sunday afternoon… when it was nearly too late."

"Bobby…" Mike growled in warning, but Jeremy only smiled.

"I know, it looks strange. But Jim asked me the same thing ages ago. I guess he was wondering, too. You see, I followed when they drove off with you, but I couldn't keep up, and the car got away from me."

Mike raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you told the captain that you saw them put us in there."

Again, Jeremy looked sheepish.

"I fibbed. There wasn't enough time to tell the whole story, so I kinda just told him the real important bits." The sheepish look became an anxious one. "I wanted him to believe me! He _had _to believe me. It was the only way I could think of, so I lied about seeing them take you into the building."

"It's okay," Bobby reassured him quietly. "Go on."

"Well… I wanted to go to the police straight away, but some of the police in that part of town aren't real nice, you know? And most of 'em tell me to get lost if I try to talk to 'em. So I knew I couldn't just go up to one and say what I saw. They probably wouldn't believe me. And if it got back to Big Joe that I talked to the cops, then _I'd_ be in trouble, and it wouldn't have helped you guys at all. So I had to wait, and listen. The next night I was hanging around near Fitzroy Avenue, and a couple of the guys in Big Joe's gang met up. One of 'em was telling about what they'd done to you guys the night before. The guy he was talking to hadn't been there. And that's when I heard about how they'd locked you in the cage in the basement of that apartment building. I knew the one they were talking about. One of the bigger street kids told me he'd lock me up in there if I didn't stay off his patch. I thought he was making it up, so I went to look for myself. So, when I heard that guy talking about the cage, I knew where he meant. So then, I had to find a cop I could talk to, who'd believe me, and wouldn't rat me out to Big Joe."

"Why didn't you call 911?" Bobby asked.

"I did. I got told I'd get persecuted for making phoney calls."

Mike and Bobby exchanged grim looks over Jeremy's head. If Jeremy had gotten a sympathetic operator, they might just have been rescued from that hellhole long before their injuries became truly life-threatening. As it was, Jeremy had clearly gotten an operator who had, perhaps, been guilty of believing one too many crank calls, and was now less inclined to accept the word of a child without adult authentication.

"And then I tried talking to a cop coming out of the police station on 89th, but he tried to take a swing at me, so I beat it from there. I was trying to figure out what to do next when I saw Jim and those two lady cops come out of the bar outside where you guys got beat up. I listened to what they said, and I knew they were the cops I had to talk to, but they drove off before I get their attention. So I went into the bar to talk to Zach. He was pretty mad, he was muttering something about lousy cops…"

"Great," Mike muttered sourly. "I can kiss _that_ haunt goodbye."

"Like you would ever go back there again anyway," Bobby retorted, his attention still on the child. "Go on Jeremy."

"I asked Zach who the cops were, and he told me it was none of my business, and to get lost. But I told him I had to know, because I seen what happened to you guys, and I had to tell 'em. Zach was kinda surprised. He asked me what I knew, and when I told him, he told me to wait. I was scared, I nearly ran off. I thought for sure he'd gone to call Big Joe, but he didn't. He came back and told me I had to get to One Police Plaza, and look for the Major Case Squad. He put me in a taxi and paid for it, and told the driver to take me straight to One Police Plaza. So I went there, I found out where the Major Case Squad was, and then I waited for someone to come. And eventually, Jim came."

Bobby looked across at Mike, marvelling at the story that Jeremy had just told them.

"You're a brave kid, Jeremy," Mike said softly. Jeremy looked up at him, suddenly tearful.

"You helped me once. You stopped those other kids from kicking my butt, and you tried to get me off the streets. It wouldn't have been right, not helping you."

"Well," Mike told him softly, "we're grateful that you did."

* * *

Deakins didn't dare stop, or even slow down, until he got to the end of the hallway and walked into a waiting lift. Once the doors slid closed, he slumped back against the wall of the lift, and groaned softly. Any hope he'd had of keeping the news secret had just been blown straight to hell. He might be able to deflect Mike and Bobby's queries for a little while, but not indefinitely. The two men made a formidable and intimidating pair, and Deakins doubted he would last long under their scrutiny.

Emerging into the hotel foyer, Deakins quickly located a secluded corner, sank into a chair and made a call.

"_Taylor._"

"Detective Taylor, this is Captain Deakins."

"_Captain, I was expecting to hear from you long before now._"

"It's been busy, and to be honest, I'd forgotten all about it."

"_Dare I ask what refreshed your memory?_"

"Detectives Goren and Logan were discharged from Mt Sinai today."

"_Ah._"

"You've done those tests, I assume?"

"_Yes, sir. There was no mistake. The results are exactly the same as the first time. It's conclusive._"

It was with some effort that Deakins withheld a sigh.

"All right, Detective. Could you have those results sent upstairs to Detectives Eames and Barek?"

"_Right away, sir._"

"Thankyou."

Deakins ended the call, and immediately made a second call. It was picked up on the fourth ring.

"_Eames_."

"Eames, it's Deakins. There's going to be an envelope coming up from CSU soon for me. I've asked for it to given to you and Barek."

"_Something you want us to look at, sir?_"

"No, Detective. It's something I _don't_ want you to look at. Do you understand me? Do not open that envelope."

There was momentary startled silence, and then she answered.

"_Yes, sir, understood. What do you want us to do with it?_"

"As soon as you've received it, I want you and Barek to get to my house and wait there. I'll be there with Mike and Bobby in a bit over an hour."

"_Your house?_" Alex echoed incredulously. "_Why?_"

"Because I'm hoping it'll be neutral territory. Please, don't ask questions. Just do as I say. I need you and Carolyn to be there, Alex, because you two are the only ones I completely trust to keep your partners in check."

There was another long silence, and then Alex responded tentatively.

"_All right, Captain. We'll get going as soon as the envelope's delivered_."

Deakins let out a sigh of gratitude, then.

"Good. Thankyou."

He ended that call, paused to collect himself, and then began to dial his home phone number, to warn Angie of the storm that was about to hit their house.

* * *

_Fin..._


End file.
